


Your Greater Sky

by Sapphylicious



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the dragon god of thunder and lightning demands a sacrifice, Kuroko offers himself up to save his village.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you must go through every door that you are led

The season was changing at last, and Seirin emerged from a long and harsh cold that had been reluctant to loosen its icy grip on the countryside. Winter's gray belligerence had rained sleet for weeks on end, freezing the land over before finally relenting to the turn of the cycle. Day by day, the frost receded from the ground. Spring settled across the thawing fields, chilly at first, but by the time the soil was dry enough to plow a bright sun had crept out and was shining merrily from a clear blue sky. The villagers welcomed the faint warmth upon their backs as they worked, though none were pleased with the late start of the season. A delay in planting meant a poorer harvest, and who knew whether the fickle gods might assail them with another hard winter, or some other unforeseen catastrophe.

For now, though, the weather was fair and the village was busy making the most of it. Oxen lumbered along the fields, dragging heavy plows through the soil to ready it for planting. The nearby river was dotted with fishermen stretching nets through water still cold with icemelt, and higher up on the banks the laundry was hung out to dry.

"Be careful," Kuroko called to the gaggle of children he aimlessly shepherded around the outskirts of the village, near enough to avoid the dangers of the wild but well out of the way of the working adults. Normally the task of watching over the children fell to the elders, but Kuroko had come by the responsibility once he was old enough to not need minding himself. The job suited him while most daily labor didn't, so it worked out for the best. He could at least contribute to the village this way.

The children were especially rambunctious at this time of year, let loose upon a newly awakened world just beginning to turn green, and they ran laughing between the rows of laundry. They hid behind flapping sheets and ducked under swaying clothes, stalking and surprising one another in turn. After a while they showed no inclination of taking their play elsewhere, and Kuroko watched them chase each other in circles with a wary eye, sensing a disaster in the making. 

"If you get the clean laundry dirty—" He couldn't even complete the threat before a muffled shriek erupted from behind the confines of wet cloth, and then Kuroko had to extricate Yuki from the sheet before he took the whole line down with his flailing. "Don't worry, I have you. Are you hurt?"

The boy was red-faced from exertion, but otherwise beaming without remorse, showing off the gap in his smile where he'd recently lost a front tooth. Kuroko patted the child's damp hair. "Let's play somewhere else, okay?"

Unfortunately, Kuroko's attempt to escape quickly and quietly was thwarted by the sound of an ominous voice boiling behind him. "Yukimura, _what have you done?_ "

Grin slipping to morph into a thoroughly cowed pout, Yuki hunched his shoulders and mumbled, "Sorry, mama."

"Honestly," Riko said with a huff, one arm balancing a tray laden with lunch against her hip while the other rested over the curve of her belly. She had just started showing, and like the times before, it didn't slow her down at all. Hyuuga had learned to stop protesting after his initial token effort rebounded off of Riko's iron will. Riko knew better than anyone else how to pace herself, and no one would dare attempt to tell her otherwise. Whether she was village headwoman, wife, or mother, it was no different. "I raised you better than this," she continued, staring down at her son.

"Yes, mama."

"Go wash that again. Nobu, help your brother."

"But I didn't—"

" _Nobunaga._ "

"Yes, mama!" The two boys collected the soiled sheet and hurried down to the river.

The other children knew better than to titter in Riko's presence, and anyway, they were much more interested in the pile of riceballs that Kuroko had slipped from her hold while she'd been berating her sons. This had the twofold effect of diverting the children's attention so they would cease crowding her, and also allowed Kuroko a spare moment to inspect the food. The plain riceballs _appeared_ normal in color and shape. Maybe someone else had made them. There was no telling what they might be filled with, though. But, at the very least, if Yuki and Nobu were any indication, it could be said that Riko's cooking probably wouldn't kill anyone. Kuroko would have to take that chance, and began handing the riceballs out before Riko could catch onto the reason for his delay.

When he finished, Riko had taken a seat on the grassy slope and patted the spot beside her. Kuroko set the tray down, saving two riceballs for Yuki and Nobu who were gingerly toeing the cold river's edge. Riko's ire had abated, leaving only a mother's fondness as she watched. "If you'd asked me not too long ago, I wouldn't have guessed that right now I'd be saddled with two little troublemakers and expecting a third on the way."

Kuroko recalled the Riko of "not too long ago," a queen amongst a whole crowd of boys. The lot of them—Hyuuga, Izuki, Koganei, Mitobe, and Kiyoshi—had been well under her thumb for as long as Kuroko could remember. "I was under the impression you'd always been saddled with troublemakers."

"Hmm. You may have a point." She rubbed a hand across the gentle swell of her middle. "I guess it's my lot in life to be surrounded by difficult boys."

"You're expecting another son, then?"

"Woman's intuition." She flashed a grin with a familiar glint in her eye that pierced through the motherly calm, and that was the indomitable Riko he knew best. "Too bad for Junpei, he'd adore having a little girl to coddle."

Kuroko could picture it all too easily—the evil look on Hyuuga's face directed at every possible suitor that came within a five-meter radius. "If it was a girl he wouldn't be able to name her after one of his favorite legends."

"No," Riko agreed with a little too much pleasure. Laced within the word was a smug note that people quickly learned to recognize, and Kuroko was no exception. "That's why," she continued, savoring her delight, "we've decided our first girl will be named after one of mine."

Not one to let an invitation dangle, Kuroko asked, "Who?"

"Tomoe Gozen."

_Of course._ He should have known. "Any daughter of yours would make a fine warrior." By which he meant a terrifying one, but Kuroko knew his way around tact.

"As to be expected," Riko sniffed. "Although it seems the world is not yet ready for Hyuuga Tomoe-chan. Masa will come first—and yes, I know," she met Kuroko's arched brows with a beleaguered expression, eyes rolling heavenward, "with a name like Masamune, he ought to be a right hellion, but _you_ try to talk sense into Junpei's thick head." 

…This, coming from the woman planning to name her unborn daughter after a warrior-wife famous for beheading her enemies. "I wouldn't dare," Kuroko said, putting on his most solemn face. "There's no use trying to talk sense into stubborn people when they have their minds set."

"Oh?" Judging by the lilt in her voice, she'd detected the barb and wasn't about to let it go. Sweetly, menacingly, she said, "And what about you, Tetsuya-kun? You're of age and already have the makings of a fine husband. When are you going to make some lucky girl very happy?"

Kuroko tried, but failed to rise to the joke the words were intended to be. Glib humor was swallowed by the truth yawning inside him: not anytime soon, seeing how he possessed neither family nor land to call his own. There was surely a girl out there willing to accept him into her household instead of the opposite way around—which would be fine with him if he had something more than his humble self to contribute, otherwise that wouldn't be doing right by them. He didn't need wealth, necessarily, but there had to be something else of value, some other worth to his name, to offer in return. Not to mention he had yet to repay the village for all they'd done.

His pause was brief, but it was enough to alert Riko that something was amiss. Her teasing grin flattened out while she whetted her sharp mind on his silence. True to form, she readied the blade of her retort quickly and cut straight to the heart of the matter. "You idiot, you're no stranger to us. You don't owe anybody anything."

"Mm," Kuroko said, neutral to the sentiment. Her words, the playful ones from before, clung to his thoughts, demanding to be addressed properly. He gave them due attention, and Riko was right about one thing—he was of age, no longer a child, and that opened certain doors. "What if, perhaps…"

"Spit it out."

He tucked his hands into his sleeves, taking his time before voicing the words and making them real. "Perhaps… I should travel to the city."

"Ah." Riko exhaled a single note of understanding. "Yes, you already have some book-learning, don't you? I can't believe that slipped my mind."

Kuroko could believe it; there wasn't much use for what little reading and writing he could do, not in his daily life. All he had were basic childhood lessons, engraved in his memory down to the sensory details; the light pressure of his mother's fingers guiding his upon the brush, the slip-slide of wet ink (careful, don't spill), and the dry, delicate crinkle of paper under his clumsy fingers. 

He owned a total of three books, fragile and treasured, every stroke of their contents memorized. One was a chronicle of the world's origin and other legends, detailing how all was born of Creation and subsequently thrown into Chaos until the Heavenly Emperor, guided by Creation's star, was able to instill order. That tale and many other stories of the gods were known far and wide. Another book was a philosophical text… of a sort. It was written in his mother's hand, a mixed jumble of sayings and summarized discussions connected by her notes, organized into the beginning of a discourse that never saw completion. Lastly, there was a book of tanka poetry. The collection was of a refined court persuasion, both admirably elegant in its images but also thoroughly foreign to Kuroko, who had only ever known the rustic village life. 

His mother had always wanted to return to the capital, though. He'd never given the matter much thought as a child, as there'd been no need, but he was too old now to simply allow the village to care for him indefinitely. If the city offered him the opportunity to make something of himself and his meager skills, then that was where he should go.

"It might not amount to much, but even just a little would be fine." Kuroko opened his hands and gazed down at his palms. They were rough with work, evidence of his perseverance despite a lack of success.

"'Just a little'? Why, you—aim higher than that! No one from Seirin lacks spirit, you hear me?" Riko's balled-up fist socked him in the arm, not gently, but affectionate in her hard-handed way.

"Yes, ma'am," Kuroko said, suddenly sympathetic to the hangdog expressions Yuki and Nobu had worn moments ago. The two brothers were presently distracted from their task by the other children who had joined them in the water, splashing and shrieking at the cold. Someone was going to be dunked at this rate. Instead of voicing a warning, Kuroko waited for the inevitable, which would make for a good excuse to get out from under Riko's scrutiny.

Her piercing look lasted for a few more beats as though to ensure her lesson would stick, or she'd want to know why not. Then finally, she let the sternness soften, and adopted a thoughtful mood. "You should talk with Izuki. He's been to the city more than any of us and has friends there, I'm sure those connections will help. Don't forget you'll need time to prepare for such a trip, so no haring off without a word!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"The weather will be cool for a while yet, so you should be able to avoid traveling in the summer heat. Maybe—oh, damn, looks like the gods are feeling contrary again."

Kuroko felt the chill of a shadow falling over him before he looked, face tipping upwards to witness the last vestiges of sunlight being blotted out by clouds. They rolled in out of nowhere, heavy and gray, and Kuroko's skin prickled when he noticed the lack of wind to usher them along a natural course. Guided instead by a divine hand known for unpredictable temper and terrible retribution, the clouds shaped themselves alive and roiling to towering heights, the mass of them hovering ominous over a countryside that had gone dark and quiet with foreboding. Cold seeped through Kuroko and iced him into stillness as he watched, helplessly transfixed by the sight of the sky no matter how desperately a part of him wanted to shut his eyes against that first searing flash, block his ears against the resonating boom that followed.

Like a signal, the god's announcement of his presence ignited a flurry of activity.

"Boys!" Riko shouted, rising to her feet, and her two sons were already scrambling up the bank to reach her. She enfolded them against her legs, and found room for more of the children that gathered around in a tight press. The bump and jostle of small bodies finally jolted Kuroko into motion, and he gathered them close, numbly doing a headcount while a jagged streak of lightning split the air with its sound.

His mind blanked out, white with the fading of the flash. Something squeezed his hand—Riko, her mouth shaping his name, the sound of it fuzzy but recognizable, clearer when she repeated it, and once she had his attention she pulled him along with an urgent tug as if he was one of the children.

They stumbled along as a group, the young ones too frightened to separate even a little for easier movement. More than one face was wet with tears, and in the midst of the pack a tremulous voice spoke out, "Are the gods angry with us?"

"No," Riko soothed, steady and stalwart, "we didn't do anything wrong. But let's get home quickly in case it rains." There was no rain so far, only the light and noise clamoring above, and even keeping his gaze firmly on the ground there was no escaping the ringing in Kuroko's head. Riko's hand tightened around his again. "Everything will be fine," she said, less placating now with the considerable strength of her will backing her words.

The god was spiteful, though, and on the heels of her assurance a daggered bolt lanced down from the heavens, striking the earth somewhere in the center of the village with a ground-shaking roar. Blinding blue-white light crackled in a wide, wavering column that anchored where it had hit, and spikes of energy attempted to escape from the main body, sparking dangerously close to thatched rooftops.

Kuroko lurched as Riko made to dash ahead, all else forgotten. He stubbornly held onto her hand, clamping around her fingers, and no matter how she tried to slip or shake free to go running towards that light, screaming for Hyuuga and Kiyoshi and everybody, he could not let go. Regardless of what was at the center of that pillar of light, his hand refused to let her go.

Another sky-rending crack reverberated down to his bones, and the light intensified until he could feel its heat even from a distance, tasting the power of it in the air. Then the column began to recede, thinning down to a bright-hot skeletal core that twisted, flickering, and finally faded completely, leaving afterimages dancing in its wake. The distinct smell of a storm hung heavy around the village, dark and gloomy beneath a thick blanket of cloud cover that showed no sign of drifting away.

With a final wrench Riko broke free of Kuroko's grip, though she did not dash off immediately. Her hands fisted in the fabric of her skirt, and when she spoke her voice was tight and contained. "Mind the children, Tetsuya-kun. I'll be right back."

"Please, wait." He disentangled himself from clinging arms, stroking wailing heads in apology. "Riko-neesan should stay here. I'll go."

Her eyes turned on him, narrowing, and her mouth was a firm, obstinate line of displeasure.

Undeterred, Kuroko pressed, "For Masa-kun's sake."

Riko's gaze dropped to her stomach, fingers slowly unclenching to splay across the growing life there. A smaller hand reached up to join hers and Yuki buried his face in his mother's skirt while Nobu, the eldest, held himself fiercely rigid besides them. "Okay," Riko said without looking up. "Then go quickly."

Kuroko obeyed and took off at a sprint. The outermost buildings weren't far, earth seeming to shrink under his feet as he ran past the smallest households, heading towards the village center. There was a crowd gathered, a chorus of confused mutters washing over him as he wove unnoticed between everyone until he made it to the front.

A clearing had formed just outside the council house where Hyuuga stood grim, arms crossed, glaring darkly at the blackened scorch mark on the ground. It was roughly star-shaped, wide enough for a grown man to stand in the center with arms outstretched. The dirt within had melted and hardened into grainy chunks of rock. Kuroko drew closer and crouched low, reaching out a hand to feel the heat emanate from them. A tingle of power warmed his skin and his mouth went dry, suddenly unable to move from that spot, and he thought he heard a faint, distant rumble from far overhead.

"Whoa!" A pair of hands clasped him by the shoulders and yanked him backwards, away from the scarred ground. Kuroko fell on his backside in a daze, then blinked, and found himself staring up at Izuki's pale face. "That was close. You almost—seven hells, that was dangerous!" 

A tight feeling squeezed the air out of Kuroko's lungs, and he spoke in a thin, breathy voice. "What happened? Is everyone all right?"

Crises averted, Izuki's expression turned unusually somber. "No one was hurt," he said with deliberate emphasis as he met Kuroko's eyes. "We're all fine."

"For now," someone said, one of many mutters in the crowd. Faces all around were openly fearful of the god's infamous wrath, sometimes provoked but other times seemingly out of the blue. Among the host of the divine that upheld the world, his mood was the most unpredictable, and his presence the least welcome. Warriors paid homage to the god of war, scholars to the goddess of wisdom, entertainers to the god of pleasure, artisans to the god of craft, and farmers to the god of labor—but no one offered prayer to the god of judgment unless they were calling down curses.

Seirin surely felt cursed now. Despairing, the news passed from mouth to mouth, leaving villagers stunned in its wake: 

"The god has made a demand."

#

"A _what?_ " Riko's hands shook as she set down her cup of tea, almost spilling, and suddenly, fervently she wished for something stronger to calm her nerves. "A _sacrifice_ , like in the story about the dragon god's wife?"

"Almost exactly like that, down to the same lines. Or so I've heard. Never did care for that one." Hyuuga's words were aimed at the floor, his head in his hands. Shadows swamped the room, shutters tightly closed without a trace of light from outside filtering in through the cracks. "And you know what will happen if we don't comply."

"Is this a joke?"

"Would you risk it being one?"

Riko didn't bother answering, or even spare him a glare for making such a suggestion. She rubbed her face tiredly. "Who else knows?"

"By now? Everyone." The twist of Hyuuga's mouth was a parody of a smile. "The god wasn't exactly discreet. I'm surprised you didn't hear it from where you were. Although, I'm also glad." 

_Idiot._ Riko pushed away the harrowing thought of not being right there if the worst had happened. It was in the past already, and she had the future to worry about. "Wonderful. I'm amazed our door isn't being broken down right this minute."

"Kiyoshi is calming the masses."

"As much as anyone can be calmed in this situation." Riko wrapped her fingers around her tea again and watched the liquid tremble ever so slightly in the cup. "How long do we have to come up with a solution?"

"By dawn tomorrow."

"Impatient bastard. Hardly giving us time to think." Lifting a hand, her teeth worried at her thumbnail. "What else did he say?"

"That's basically it. Just that a sacrifice must be presented at that spot, that it must be someone young, treasured, and fair, and if we fail to make an offering by the time the sun rises…"

"Seirin will suffer for it. Damn." If it was almost any other god, one that followed some semblance of mortal logic, Riko would risk bargaining, finding something else to offer that wasn't one of her own people. Or at the very least she could convince herself that whoever was chosen might be treated well. She let out a disgusted sigh. "It just had to be the thunder god. At least if it was the rain god like in the tale we'd be having the opposite problem, trying to stop the girls from throwing themselves at Kise-sama."

Hyuuga recoiled a little at her casual invocation of a divine name. "I don't think we need any more heavenly attention right now."

Riko shrugged. "Why not? Mortal intervention isn't going to be sufficient, that's for certain. Let's see, who else doesn't the thunder god get along with—Kagami-sama?"

With an alarmed, choking sound, Hyuuga's hand flew jut a second too late to stop the name from leaving her mouth. " _Please_ don't. There's enough fighting at the border that it wouldn't take much for the war to migrate over here, and that's the last thing we need."

She batted his hand away. Then, on second thought, gripped it tight like the lifeline it was. "Well, what other ideas do you have?"

He twined their fingers together. "I hate to admit it, but I haven't a damned clue. We can't waste time. Let's call everyone else together."

"Oh, that won't turn ugly at all. What are we going to do, vote out the least popular member of our village?"

"That's not—!" 

"I know." She leaned her face against the back of the hand she held, cheek pressed to the bumpy ridge of his knuckles. "I'm sorry. I just—I don't know what to do. This kind of demand doesn't even make sense! Nothing good ever comes from the thunder god, I don't know why the Heavenly Emperor made him a part of this world."

"Riko…"

She glared upwards, even though the sight of the sky was blocked by the roof. "It's not blasphemy if it's true."

#

The farthest field was untended, and had been for many years. Under normal circumstances, no amount of land went to waste; if by chance one of the steadings became suddenly available it was either occupied anew or made into a public field for all families to share. This one, though, they had nervously left alone. Fulfilling her obligations as headwoman, and new to the position at the time, Riko had put the offer on the table. No one had claimed it. _Inconvenient_ , some had said, due to its distance from the other steadings. _Bad luck_ , the more outspoken had declared, and said a prayer to the god of travel who also guided departed souls onto their next journey.

Kuroko followed the familiar path past a small house, just barely big enough for two, which stood dark and empty inside. His mother had never been very good at maintaining it to begin with, too accustomed to the ways of the city to truly settle at Seirin. Still, for much of Kuroko's life this humble steading had been home. The children sometimes liked to play here, too young and too daring to share the apprehension of their parents. Although perhaps, after today, they would come to heed that fear. There was no greater reminder than the swath of clouds piled up overhead, and this was not the first time the thunder god had visited Seirin.

Kuroko cut through the overgrown field, flattening clumps of new spring grass and weeds until he reached the dead tree at the very end. Once towering high, it was now half its original height with a long, deep scar running down what remained of its trunk. It had lost some of its branches to the strike that had blown it apart, and more recently others had snapped off under the weight of snow and ice, now lying scattered around Kuroko's feet. He pushed them away, clearing the area around the base where a lone grave marker thrust up from the earth.

The two of them had no other family at Seirin, so she was alone out here. Her visitors were few. She'd never been disliked, only distant, and above all: unfortunate. Her misfortunate was what lingered, palpable in this place of neglect, and the least Kuroko could do was share some of it. That was only fair, after all.

"You don't owe anybody anything," Riko had said. Riko, who had been the first to welcome a pregnant stranger newly expelled from the university into her village, and helped her raise her child here. Headman's daughter before inheriting the position even after she married into the Hyuuga family, Riko had always set the example for others to follow. She visited the grave almost as regularly as Kuroko did. She'd also been the first to trust her children in his care, though the suggestion itself had been Koganei's.

"What if Tetsuya looked after them? He's good with kids. Rinnosuke's little sis said she's going to marry him when she grows up!"

And with just that, Kuroko had been provided a role within the village, a way to make himself useful instead of being a burden that was unable to last for a full day's work in the fields. His mother hadn't been very suited for the labor, either. Even at a young age, Kuroko had realized how much they relied on Seirin to support them. Later—much later—he also came to understand that she'd never intended to stay, but there was no helping it now. Here she would remain, cradled among the withered roots of the tree.

Kneeling before the marker, he trailed his fingertips over the characters burned into the wood. Below her name was a brief poem, but instead of a melancholy verse it ended with a joke that had once made her laugh in spite of herself. Izuki had been proud of that one. 

Kiyoshi had been the one to take Kuroko in after his mother's death. Riko had offered, but Kuroko had declined. She'd been pregnant with Nobu at the time, juggling her duties as a wife and her duties as headwoman simultaneously. Expecting her to be his caretaker on top of that was too much. He'd tried to decline Kiyoshi, too, thinking himself old enough to be fine on his own, strong enough to continue living in the house he'd once shared with his mother, and Kiyoshi had let him go on thinking that until the next stormy night. That night he'd found Kuroko under the tree next to his mother's fresh grave, face buried in his drawn-up knees and waiting for a second strike that never came. Lightning never struck near Seirin again, until now.

Some said—never to his face, and never, ever in front of Riko—they said it might have been a punishment. Or it might have been bad luck. In either case, if that was true, then it was unfair. Attributing the punishment and bad luck to her was unfair. Taking it out on the village now was unfair.

Accepting it for himself was probably unfair, too. Riko would say so. Hyuuga would yell at him the same way he'd yelled that night after Kiyoshi had brought Kuroko home, soaking wet, the sound of thunder fading in his ears.

"It's not the same," he said, offering a slight smile as if to reassure the lonely grave in front of him. "I'm happy here. I'm glad to have been with everyone. I miss you, and I'm sorry, but I want to protect them. Like you did for me." He leaned forward until his forehead lightly touched the marker, eyes closed. "So goodbye for now."

#

When Kuroko made his way back to the heart of the village, a council was being called together. Each of the elders wore an expression of granite hardness as they disappeared into the privacy of the council house. In contrast, Riko and Hyuuga shared a different sort of determination—not stone so much as fire, but under a grim shadow all the same, the hours stretching long and dark ahead. Hyuuga was snappish in his dismissal of the lingering onlookers, but that was normal enough. The spark in his tone promised to burn through the night and keep on going, seeing Seirin through to the future no matter what they might face.

Riko offered everyone a smile, fierce and iron-willed. Her bright eyes never landed on Kuroko blending in with the crowd, too full of the bigger picture, the broader scope that was her responsibility, and that was how it should be. Turning to go inside, her shoulders were a straight line made solid by the firm touch of Hyuuga's hand supporting her back.

"Thank you," Kuroko said aloud. Someone near him blinked and looked around for the source of the voice, gaze seeing past him, and then it didn't matter because Kuroko was moving on anyway.

The sky made everyone nervous; many retreated indoors despite the early hour and an uncommon hush settled over the village. Those who were brave enough or stubborn enough to continue their work did so with hunched shoulders and downcast stares. Kuroko's line of sight was also aimed at the ground—at the scorched earth that everyone avoided, rendering the presence of the guard almost useless.

Mitobe was posted at the door of the council house, silent as ever. Like the others, he avoided the display of the scar made by the god's power, instead keeping an eye on the surrounding area. 

Kuroko took this in stride. There were just enough people out in the open for him to slip among them and approach the site without attracting notice. His steps were light and quiet, drifting him ever closer to the thunderstruck ground until all of a sudden melted rock was being scuffed under his feet. He could feel the heat, even now, through the woven material of his sandals. The black, burnt earth made a marker for him to stand on, awaiting that first lightning flicker and the deep rumble that growled out of the restless clouds and vibrated down to his core.

His breath shuddered, breathing in the charged air, letting it fill him slowly, steadily, to overwhelming capacity, making him aware of how fragile he was while standing beneath the most terrible might of heaven. Much greater men than he had been ripped apart by this power, and this was only the barest shade of that monstrous force. Nonetheless, Kuroko took it all in, opening himself to that intensity with a desperation that knew no limits. He could afford none of that. There was a shout, and something like his name being drowned out by a deafening roar. When it receded, the wild pounding of his heart swallowed every other sound.

He lifted his gaze up to the sky where every white-edged flash seared the heavens. In the face of that tremendous sight, Kuroko spread his arms, aching but alive with the echoes of thunder rolling through him in waves. "Please," he said, and perhaps it was the taste of lightning that infused the word with more demand than was proper. Maybe it was the strength of the storm that let him stare up without flinching as if to peer through the clouds at the deity so high above him.

A lull broke through the rush of noise, and Kuroko took a deep, deep breath. He raised his arms higher, hands open, and all the crackling energy that had gathered surged from within him, reaching for its source in the sky. Kuroko's throat burned around the name of the god in neither a prayer nor a curse, and with that he called down the blue-tinged lightning blade once more. As it crashed into the earth he was enveloped in its dominating heat, blinded by its dazzling light, and the whole of him was nothing but a shadow in its bright midst.


	2. burns my heart to feel your power

A woman was humming a song. It was a familiar tune, sweet and soothing, the soft melody drifting in and out of the hazy space between sleep and waking. Idle notes slipped into his dreaming memory; the curve of his mother's back where she knelt on the floor, and the cadence of her voice as it rose and fell, accompanied by the steady, smooth grind of stone as she prepared her ink.

Kuroko was almost lulled back to sleep, sinking fast into the deep dark of slumber before a thunderclap and rumbling tremor buoyed him back up. The lids of his eyes twitched at the presence of light, and the turn of his cheek met with the yielding dip of a pillow under his head. He floated, surrounded by softness unlike anything he'd ever known.

The humming stopped. "It's about time," a voice huffed quietly, fabric whispering nearby. Kuroko stilled. He breathed in a delicate cherry blossom scent, and a mild breeze caressed his face. Through the screen of his lashes he caught sight of a pale pink blur drifting out of view. The sound of a door opened and gently closed shut.

Seconds passed, and Kuroko blinked into full waking. He found himself in a large, raised bed that was tucked into an alcove in the wall. A sheer curtain veiled it from the rest of the room. As he sat up layers of silk puddled around his waist, impossibly luxurious compared to the dull and coarse hemp clothing he wore. His hands started to slide over the sheets but then stopped, fingers curling closed, suddenly self-conscious of the field dirt smudged into them, their roughness that caught on the fine weave of the fabric.

Stiffly, he turned his head to take in the filtered view of the room. That it was spacious came as no surprise, boasting a floor of smooth, polished stone partially covered by an embroidered rug, and the far wall was decorated with a painting of a flowering tree branch. He expected to find open windows to account for the earlier breeze, but instead the sunlight poured through closed glass panels. A tall lacquered desk and slightly askew chair sat where the light was plentiful. On the desk were more familiar sights: sheets of paper, a wet brush balanced upon a flat inkstone, and a still-steaming cup of tea. 

Kuroko gingerly peeled back the covers and parted the fragile curtain, shifting his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the floor and then froze when the voice from earlier let out a muffled shout beyond the door.

"Just where have you been?"

"Aah, so noisy…"

"You didn't go down below, did you? You _know_ you're not supposed to—"

"I didn't, I didn't, quit your screeching. Kise, that bastard, dragged me all the way over to the Painted Palace. Why don't you yell at him for a change?"

"Oh, I'll have plenty to say to him later for filling your head with stupid, drunken ideas. Or did you forget already?"

There was an indistinct grumble, followed by a loud smack and a wounded yelp. "Ow! Damnit, Satsuki!"

"I can't believe you! Even when you're confined to heaven you still find ways to cause trouble in the mortal realm!"

"What did I—wait a minute—what are you—"

The door banged open and in a flurry of movement Kuroko scrambled backward until he was pressed against the wall, out of sight, as a heavy weight tumbled inside.

"Take some responsibility for once, stupid Dai-chan!" And with that, the door slammed, making Kuroko wince and someone else groan.

"M'gonna kill Kise next time I see him…" There was a lackluster thump, a rustle of fabric, and a deep, dragging sigh. Then silence.

Kuroko's pulse fluttered in his throat like he'd swallowed a butterfly, anxious wingbeats straining inside a trap. Bit by bit, he uncurled from his position by the wall, and slid over the silk covers towards the edge of the bed. The tips of his fingers caught on the swaying curtain which he drew aside to peer at the room beyond.

Sprawled on the floor was a supine figure in what Kuroko could only think to call majestic disarray. He was dressed in white and blue finery trimmed with cloud-patterned brocade, but the layers of his clothes had pulled loose, gaping at the collar and partway down his chest. The sash at his waist was haphazardly tied, and the hem of his robe tangled with his long legs. A darkly tanned arm moved away from his face, and he tipped his head back to greet Kuroko with a blankly unconcerned, upside-down stare.

"Who're you?"

"I'm… from Seirin village."

The man let out a snort. "Like that means anything to me." Though bleary-eyed, he hardly wobbled at all when he rolled over and up onto his feet, raking a hand through the short scruff of his hair. "You have a name or something, don't you?"

Kuroko's lips tightened, pinching together at the dismissal of his home and a steadily building realization that did nothing to calm the rapid pounding of his heart. "Kuroko Tetsuya," he said, and remained where he was as the man came to stand before the bed.

"Kuroko, huh." He yanked his sash loose and let the fabric unravel. Then he shrugged out of the dark outer robe and left the splendid garment lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. More layers followed one by one until he was only wearing a pair of loose, undyed pants. There wasn't a mark to be seen on his skin, evenly shaded across a lean, muscular frame. For however much it counted he looked young—of age by mortal standards, but not yet a weathered adult. He batted the flimsy curtain out of the way and bent over the bed, broad-shouldered and shadowy with the light at his back. "Move over."

Kuroko dared to hesitate. "You're the thunder god, Aomine-sama?"

"S'what they call me. You movin' or not?"

Heartbeat racing frantically now, Kuroko swallowed and bowed his head. He retreated back towards the wall, and the bed which had seemed so large at first became that much smaller when it was shared with an infamously terrifying god of destruction. 

The god in question, though, merely rolled onto his stomach, hugging a pillow close and sinking his cheek into its softness with a sigh. "Finally some peace and quiet." The lines of his body went loose and languid, almost with a child's carelessness—except for the cloying scents of alcohol and perfume that clouded the enclosed space.

Kuroko raised the hem of his sleeve over his nose and mouth, breathing through the fabric as he regarded the prone form lying beside him. "Excuse me… Aomine-sama?"

A half-hearted grunt answered him.

Trapped as he was in a bed with a fearsomely hung-over god, nerve was all Kuroko had when he asked, "Do you remember demanding a sacrifice from Seirin village the other day?"

"A sacrifice… huh?" Eyes squinting in thought, the god propped his chin up on the pillow, mumbling, "Did I do something stupid like that? Shit." Then, with a glimmer of clarity, he sent a look over his shoulder at Kuroko. "And I guess that's supposed to be you?"

Kuroko knew he wasn't the most impressive sight, but then, that made two of them. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, whatever." Aomine buried his face in the pillow again.

Blood rushed to Kuroko's head, heart pounding for a different reason than it had before. His fingers curled tight in the cloth of his sleeves. "Aomine-sama."

"Shut up, lemme sleep…"

"Do you mean to say that I am here by _mistake?_ "

Aomine pulled the pillow over his head and his muffled snarl emitted from underneath. "So what? I can send you back. But later. Now let me sleep or I'll kill you."

Self-preservation forgotten, Kuroko was sorely tempted to rip the pillow away and demand to be sent home immediately. Everyone was surely worried. Riko would never let him hear the end of it, and it would be his own fault for making such an impulsive decision. He let his head fall back, thumping dully against the wall, and closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw the familiar landscape of the village, the stretch of fields dotted with houses and the swell of the river bank curving along the countryside.

At least, he reassured himself, no harm came of this. Surely there were worse consequences to the drunken whims of the gods. This was… irritating and more than a little embarrassing, but mild in comparison to other possibilities.

Kuroko slit his eyes to peer down at the god who had inadvertently brought him here. Aomine made for a ridiculous picture with his head still covered, but the splay of his fingers atop the pillow were relaxed and his bare shoulders rose and fell with slow, even breaths. There was little of the terrible and mighty thunder god to be seen in him right now. Kuroko could hardly reconcile the sight with the devastating flashes burned into his memory. A tight, prickly sensation began to wind itself up in Kuroko's chest, and he crossed his arms as though to hold the stabs of pressure inside.

The door clicked open, and in floated a lovely vision haloed in pink. She was clothed in pastel hues befitting the season, and adorned with subtle touches of gold. The woman stopped at the bedside, expression darkening at the sight of Aomine, but she only gave a disdainful sigh while collecting the things from the desk. Then, instead of sweeping away, she tilted her head invitingly and beckoned to Kuroko with her free hand, waiting for him to maneuver out of the bed without disturbing its slumbering occupant. 

Kuroko followed her into the adjoining room where a table and pair of chairs were set in place. The windows here were cracked open to let in a warm breeze, and the view outside was bursting with greenery. 

"Have a seat," the woman said, and the smile she offered him was rueful. "Allow me to apologize on my brother's behalf. There are days when I fear he won't ever learn."

The thunder god had but one sister, the wind goddess of wisdom and compassion. Together with their third sibling, the rain god, they were the Stormborn. "Momoi-sama," Kuroko greeted with proper reverence, bowing low, as if he was before the small shrine his mother had kept in dedication to the patron goddess of scholars.

"Kuroko Tetsuya-kun, isn't it? Shiori's child?"

"Eh?" He looked up, and with some stilted shock slid into a chair opposite of the goddess. "How…?"

Lacing her fingers under her chin, Momoi dimpled at him. "We do hear those prayers, you know. They're all recorded. Of course, it's impossible even for us to personally address each one, but there are a few that stand out. I always thought it was such a pity that Shiori had to leave the university. She was very bright. I'd been looking forward to her future work."

"Oh." Kuroko couldn't think of a single thing to say to that praise except: "Thank you. She would have been much honored to know that."

Momoi's face sobered for just a moment, her line of sight drifting towards the door where they'd left Aomine sleeping, and a tight fist squeezed Kuroko's heart, unsure if the question stuck there should be allowed to be voiced. Before he could decide, Momoi's gaze sharpened and returned to him, demeanor once again pleasant. "You've probably gathered, but your arrival here was a bit…"

"Accidental?" 

"Ah, _abnormal_." Momoi winced. "Akashi-kun would say gods don't make mistakes. At least, none that we should admit to. But, well, yes, Dai-chan does have an upsetting tendency to stir up trouble."

That understatement was met with dry silence.

Momoi delicately cleared her throat. "Anyway, you've been recorded as a tribute to the gods. I don't know how—no, I take that back, I know exactly how Mukkun was convinced to make it official. Honestly, you'd think the Chief of the Ministry of the Treasury wouldn't be so easily bribed. But because it was approved and accepted, it'll take a bit of work to reverse the process."

"I see," Kuroko said, committing the bureaucratic language to memory even if parts of it made little sense. "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's not your fault at all! We'll try to get this cleared up soon. Until then, though, please feel welcome here. You can let me know if you need anything. Don't let Dai-chan bully you, he's currently forbidden from interfering with the other realms without Akashi-kun's permission, but of course he found a stupid way around that. With Ki-chan's help. Those two, I swear…"

Kuroko was beginning to sort fact from fiction when it came to the legends surrounding the gods, and one thing seemed to be true: the Stormborn were practically inseparable (though not necessarily harmonious). "Thank you, Momoi-sama."

A knock sounded at the door, which then opened without further preamble. "Pardon the intrusion—ah, Satsuki-chan, hello." The new arrival was willowy and effeminate, long strands of black hair framing a pale oval face. He blinked long lashes at Kuroko. "This would be the offering from the mortal realm?"

"Yes, this is Kuroko Tetsuya-kun. Tetsuya-kun, Mibuchi Reo."

The sage known as one of the three heavenly kings who assisted the emperor nodded gracefully. "A pleasure. Satsuki-chan, is Daiki-kun in?"

"He is, but I'm afraid he's rather useless right now." She began to roll her eyes, stopping at the sight of a crimson scroll that was withdrawn from a draping sleeve. "Oh… Reo-nee, better let me have that. He's going to be difficult about it."

The scroll was presented to her with abbreviated, but elegant ceremony, resting in both hands palms up. It bore a golden seal. Mibuchi inclined his head above it. "Then I'll leave this in your expert hands."

Momoi plucked it up, skirt and sleeves billowing around her figure as she marched purposefully to the bedroom door. Throwing it open, she announced, "Dai-chan, get up, you have orders."

Aomine's reply was low, growling, and rude. 

A violent blast of wind slammed the door shut, and the walls shook in thunderous rage. Kuroko watched as a decorative vase shuddered its way off a table, was caught neatly in Mibuchi's waiting hand, and returned to its position once the tremors subsided. Kuroko also caught a whiff of smoke that became more pronounced when the door was flung open. Aomine stormed out in a shower of sparks, sparing no one in the room a glance as he passed through. Momoi followed soon after, primly smoothing down the flyaway wisps of her hair and trailing a satisfied spin of a breeze.

"The answer is yes, in case you're wondering," Mibuchi said while straightening a painting that had gone crooked on the wall. "They're always like this, so best get used to it. Don't worry, Daiki-kun is more bark than bite."

Kuroko sat back heavily in his chair. "…I see." Mibuchi tilted his head at him, wearing an expectant smile, and Kuroko continued, "…To be honest, I can hardly believe he's the dragon god the legends describe."

"Can't the same be said for all of us to some degree? But if it's proof you want, hurry outside and you'll see something interesting."

Kuroko wouldn't say he required proof of any kind. That wasn't the part he struggled with. There was some other reason he pushed away from the table and ventured down the hall, past rows of gilt pillars and glass windows that revealed a rapidly darkening sky, thick with low-approaching clouds. Some other desire burned in his chest—to see, to know, to understand—to be free of that tension about to snap inside him. Like everyone else, he'd grown up listening to all the tales of the gods. Unlike the others of his village, he'd been taught to value learning above all else, paying his respects first to his mother's patron goddess before the others. And so Kuroko followed the tug of wind on his clothes to where Momoi stood under the arch of an entranceway, and looked out across a wide, empty terrace that extended all the way to the edge of the mountain.

The stories told that heaven was raised up on the peaks of seven towering mountains. Adorning them were seven grand palaces for seven dragon gods. The highest of them—even higher than the Imperial Palace of the Morning Star—was the thunder god's Soaring Palace of Azure Heights.

Aomine stood in the center of the open space, still shirtless and barefoot, wreathed in Momoi's wind and the swirling mist of clouds that had enveloped the mountain. A tingle of energy was Kuroko's only warning before a flash lit up in a ribbon of heat that twined around Aomine's form, lasting only a blink before disappearing. A heartbeat later there was another, brighter flash blazing into existence. Then a blinding third. A fourth. And then, while squinting to see through the brilliant light that melted and shaped itself into sinuous curves, Kuroko's breath caught at the force of a shockwave passing through him. The mountain trembled, and the air all around cracked as if splitting open.

With a rush, the mists parted to unveil a long, gleaming body of deep blue scales, chased with live crackles of lightning. The coiled length of him crowded the terrace, tail looping the perimeter, and despite the powerful shift of muscle under his armor he was balanced light and floating on his feet. He was nothing like a snake, the plates of his underbelly never dragging so indecorously along the ground. A pair of pronged horns angled back sharply from the top of his head, and a silver fringe swept from his crown down along the winding length of his spine, to the tip of his tapering tail. His claws scraped over stone that Kuroko now noticed bore scars from such treatment. 

Momoi stepped forward, undaunted by the rippling movement of a heavy tail nearby, and the wind was happy to carry her words upwards. "Good luck, Dai-chan."

Aomine's neck twisted with serpentine ease to regard her with clear disdain. "When have I ever had use for luck, Satsuki?" There was an echoing resonance to his voice, but otherwise the rolling syllables remained the same as when he'd been in human form. His eyes, too, remained the same brilliant shade of blue. 

He gathered himself without waiting for a reply, first crouching low and then pushing off from the ground. Effortlessly, he spiraled up into the air. Lightning wove around him, streaming in bright lines that patterned the sky as he flew, as beautiful as he was dangerous.

Kuroko pressed his palm over his heart, stifling its incessant, dull thuds that ached with every flash. His eyes fell half-closed, but try as he might, he could not shut out the sight completely, or turn away. Here, he found, was a lesson that he still had not learned.

#

Kuroko's second day in heaven started with a warm weight huddled on his stomach. Half-asleep, his initial reaction was to push it off, and it wasn't until his hand landed in a mass of fur that he jolted fully awake—literally, with a static shock tingling up his arm. He sat up, dislodging the weight from his stomach and into his lap where it rolled and whined grumpily. A face covered in black and white fur stared up at him with round, pale eyes, and four stubby legs pawed in the air.

"I wasn't aware heaven kept dogs," Kuroko said, and after a moment's hesitation he caved to the impulse to stoke his finger along its fluffy belly. There were no pins and needles this time, and his hand settled more firmly in the fur. "If that's what you are. If not, I apologize for my error."

A plumed tail wagged in response, and the dog wriggled happily under Kuroko's hand.

The window curtains allowed only a sliver of sunlight into the quiet room, but Kuroko wasn't accustomed to spending long mornings in bed. There was usually work to be done. He lingered now only as an opportunity to gather his thoughts.

Momoi hadn't been concrete in her estimate of how long it would take to send him back. "It shouldn't be too long," she'd said, but the stories told that a god's sense of time could be drastically different from a mortal's. Kuroko had at least confirmed that time passed equally in all realms. "Although," Momoi had added, "there's occasionally some discrepancy when traveling between them for mortals. The realms themselves are stable, but the boundaries can be… tricky. There was no problem bringing you here because Dai-chan has the raw power to punch straight through them, so he's at least useful in that regard."

She'd politely kept Kuroko company for the rest of the day, telling him about heaven without reserve, sharing her wisdom. "It's not a secret," she'd explained with a smile, as if this wasn't the rarest of privileges she was bestowing upon him. "It's just that Akashi-kun thinks it's best not to interfere too much, so we keep our distance from mortal affairs. As usual, he's always right. It's enough for us to govern the spirit realm, and leave the mortals to their ever-changing ways so long as they look to us for guidance and order. Balance is maintained that way."

The larger picture she illustrated made sense, so Kuroko held his tongue about the bloody border skirmishes that had been ongoing for as long as he could remember. There was no telling when territories might shrink or fade or be swallowed up, but all of that could be just a blink in the eyes of the gods.

By nightfall, Momoi had taken her leave. She had her own duties to attend to, but would visit him when she was able. He'd thanked her deeply for her consideration, her reputation for being compassionate well-deserved.

Kuroko had nothing to complain about as far as heaven's hospitality. The lavish room he stayed in was already beyond imagination. It was one of several that comprised Aomine's private quarters, called the Dragon Pavilion, where only other gods could freely enter. The Dragon Pavilion sat at the topmost peak of the mountain and was encircled by the inner palace, which was used for private and daily affairs. Tiered below that lay the outer palace, for public and ceremonial affairs. While Momoi had not openly said so, Kuroko inferred that it would be _preferable_ if he didn't stray beyond the "safe" zone of the pavilion. Probably more for his own good than anything else.

There was one slight problem, though. "What do you think?" Kuroko asked the dog in his lap, petting between its ears. "I don't suppose you know where to get breakfast?"

The dog made a contented sound and nosed at Kuroko's hand to lick his fingers, which Kuroko hoped didn't mean he was edible. 

Momoi had arranged for meals to be brought in yesterday, though he didn't know from where. There had to be a kitchen someplace, though, and he could prepare his own food without needing to trouble anybody.

Decision made, he gently shifted his furry companion to the side and rose from bed. There were fresh clothes available for him, heavenly garments that made him think twice before putting them on, but in the end the fine silk was less conspicuous in this luxurious place than his normal drab clothes. Even the plainest robe flowed like water against his skin as he strolled away from his designated sanctuary to explore the rest of the inner palace.

For the most part it was an empty place. Rarely did he come across others. There were servants, but they hardly noticed him and the dog following at his heels in the midst of whatever they were busy with. Snatches of conversation occasionally haunted the halls, few and far between, always fading out of earshot before they became living and real. And there was just so much space gaping from the polished floors to the high ceilings, widening between the painted walls, every veranda offering a view of lush gardens with no one stopping to appreciate them. Everything was well-kept, but still Kuroko was reminded of a shambling, unused house, and desolate field back home.

He slowed along a garden path, coming to a stop over a small bridge that stretched over a tiny stream, and let out a breath that was barely a sigh. Homesickness dragged at him. He prayed Riko and the others weren't too worried. Kuroko's gaze lifted automatically to the sky, although there wasn't much point when heaven was already under his feet. Bringing his eyes down instead, he wondered what the world looked like from up here, whether it was small and quantified or as boundlessly vast as ever.

The dog pawed at the water, making Kuroko's reflection ripple. Then its ears pricked up, nose swiveling to point down the path, and with a bark it trotted on ahead, tail wagging, to greet the black-robed figure coming around the bend.

"Hello to you, too," the man said, smiling with closed eyes behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. "Coming and going as you please again, just like your master. If only we could all be so free and easy."

The dog shook itself, throwing off sparks in the process, then promptly flopped down in the grass without a care.

" _Very_ like your master," the man repeated. One corner of his smile hiked up another notch, stretching thin. He then turned to Kuroko, equal parts wry and imploring when he said, "Please take care not to follow suit, if only out of consideration for my chronic headaches."

"I will do my best."

"I appreciate it." The man tucked his hands into his wide sleeves and seemed to regard Kuroko from head to toe. "I believe introductions are in order, yes? Imayoshi Shouichi, deputy assistant to the thunder god."

"Kuroko Tetsuya. I'm honored to make your acquaintance." He bowed to the man known among mortals as the Sage of the West, not quite a god but so exceptional among humankind that heaven had acknowledged him.

"Likewise," Imayoshi said cheerfully. "Kuroko-kun, feel free to bring any problems to me during your stay here. In fact, is there something you need right now, or were you simply enjoying a pleasant walk on your way to the gate?"

A twinge of guilty resignation pinched Kuroko's insides. _Oh, well._ He managed not to avert his eyes like a scolded child and instead met Imayoshi's menacingly good humor with unruffled calm. "Yes, actually. I forgot to ask Momoi-sama where to find the kitchen."

"Ah. Well, it's probably better that you forgot, we don't like to remind her that it exists or she might get ideas, bless her heart. But if that's all, I can arrange for regular meals to be brought to the Dragon Pavilion."

"I'm grateful for your assistance." There wasn't much else he could do besides accept gracefully and head back, disappointment sinking into the depths of him. Then again, he still hadn't been explicitly _ordered_ to stay put. Perhaps the gods in general shared an aversion to directness, although he wasn't sure exactly how far he was willing to test the boundaries of their non-interference.

"Would you also do me a favor, Kuroko-kun?" 

The beseeching tone made his spine straighten automatically, though he didn't miss the hint of something sharp buried within. "…Yes?"

"If you don't mind, could you see that Aomine attends the morning conference today? The miracle of punctuality might be too much to ask for, but it would surely be a benefit to the ministry if the alleged boss showed his face now and then."

"…I will do my best."

"That's the spirit!" Imayoshi wore the expression of a man who had just divested himself of an unpleasant burden. "Thank you kindly. I must be on my way now. I'll have breakfast delivered to you shortly."

The dog barked once without raising its head from its paws, ears drooping to lie flat as it whined piteously and aimed a soulful gaze up at Imayoshi's tall figure.

It was just as well that Imayoshi's eyes were closed, or they might have rolled at the exaggerated display. "I'll inform the cooks to prepare something for a starving, neglected raijuu as well."

Another bark sounded, this one much happier.

"You're welcome," Imayoshi said dryly, then nodded to Kuroko. "Now if you'll excuse me, the morning conference will be starting soon."

"I understand. I will see to Aomine-sama."

"Good luck," Imayoshi drawled over his shoulder as he took his leave, escaping back down the path towards the outer palace where there were no negligent gods to rouse from bed.

Kuroko allowed himself a moment of dejection before shoring up his resolve. "Let's go, then," he said, and the dog—no, the raijuu—scampered up to join him on his duty-bound walk back towards the pavilion.

#

The doors to Aomine's bedroom were adorned with gold-painted dragons rearing up and facing one another. Kuroko's shadow fell between them and became part of the frozen tableau of their imminent clash. He lifted one hand and paused, considering the smallness of his curved knuckles, before firming up his fist and rapping against the smooth wood of the door. "Aomine-sama?"

No answer came from within. Aomine had returned the previous night without fanfare, Momoi simply welcoming him back and allowing him to retreat sullenly to his room. Kuroko had not interacted with him at all since their first meeting. He'd hoped to maintain that distance for the rest of his stay, but perhaps that had been too optimistic.

"Aomine-sama?" He knocked again, louder. After another extended silence his hand lowered, grasping the ornate handle with clammy fingers. Kuroko took a deep, fortifying breath, and pushed. "Please excuse my intrusion."

The inside was dark, curtains drawn to shut out the morning light, and the view of the room was blocked by a large screen. The mural painted across it was of a mountain landscape heavily shrouded in obscuring mist, as if to ask any intruder if they were absolutely, positively sure they wanted to enter.

Kuroko didn't have much choice. The raijuu, on the other hand, did not share his compunctions, and eagerly scurried past him. Shaking his head, Kuroko rounded the screen in time to see the heavy outer drapes of the bed flick closed behind a wagging tail. A soft, "oof," sounded from within, followed by a drowsy, "oh, it's you. Move over, mutt, I was here first."

Kuroko politely cleared his throat. "Aomine-sama. I've been asked to remind you about the morning conference which is beginning shortly."

"Nnh? Oh, that…"

"Please attend the conference."

"Don't wanna."

The petulant tone struck a familiar chord that resonated along Kuroko's tightly strung nerves. Mighty god or no, childish behavior was the same in any realm. Kuroko's eyes narrowed marginally at the embroidered bed curtains, considering, but then flicked sideways to the covered windows. Starting there, he walked briskly to them and pulled the fabric aside to let sunlight flood the room. Then, turning back to the bed, he tried once more: "It isn't good to shirk your responsibilities, even—or _especially_ if you're a god."

Aomine's reply was less sleepy, but more cranky. "And you're just a mortal, so get lost already."

"I refuse." Kuroko came to stand before the bed. "Will you be getting up now or not?"

"Oh, for—did Satsuki put you up to this?" A hand yanked the drapes open partway and Aomine peered balefully through them.

"Technically it was Imayoshi-sama." Kuroko took advantage of the gap and swept the drapes all the way open. "Although I'm also doing this of my own will, so please don't misunderstand."

Aomine squinted at the sudden brightness and shrunk back into the recesses of the alcove. "Tch, that four-eyed snake. You know he was just messing with you."

"I find that to be irrelevant right now. Hurry and get up."

A spark ignited in Aomine's annoyed glare. He looked Kuroko up and down, but instead of snarling threats or striking out he sunk down into the bed, turning to face the wall with his back to Kuroko in clear dismissal. "I said I don't wanna."

"Aomine-sama," Kuroko warned in a dangerously pleasant tone of voice that would have made Riko proud, "if you insist on acting like a child, you will be treated as one." 

"Like I care." Aomine stayed where he was. 

The raijuu, proving smarter than its master, vacated its spot on the bed and came to sit at Kuroko's feet, tongue lolling happily. "Very well," Kuroko said, bending down to grab the edge of the sheets and sweep them all off in one decisive movement. They drifted elegantly to the floor, folding around him in a sea of silk waves that left Aomine sitting up in bed, incredulous and bare.

…Make that _very_ bare, the god apparently having forgone both shirt and pants while he slept. Kuroko averted his eyes so as to not stare, but not before noting that Aomine's dark skin tone was even all over, not at all like the contrasting tan lines Kuroko was used to seeing. Kuroko's own skin only ever turned lightly golden at the beginning of summer, and then had an unfortunate tendency to burn. He scratched at his cheek, abruptly reminded that he was a mere mortal in the presence of a god who probably never suffered such trifling things as sunburn, and Kuroko's actions for the past few minutes were remarkably foolish in retrospect.

"Oi," Aomine growled, a low, thunderous threat rolling from the back of his throat. "Just who do you think you are?"

Spinning around to hide the creeping flush overtaking his face, his answer came in between clipped pauses. "Kuroko Tetsuya. From Seirin Village in Shin Province." Might as well carry on with what he started—provided he wasn't struck down where he stood. "Sixteen years old," he continued past the anxious little knot in his throat, swallowing it down to walk swiftly to the partitioned side-room where a treasury's worth of fine clothing hung. There were colors and styles of all kinds. In addition to the elaborate, wide-sleeved court dress, there was also more functional, form-fitting garb, though the quality of the cloth was too excellent to be comparable to the peasant class. Kuroko was momentarily stunned by the sheer volume and variety of choices to pick from.

He grasped for his thoughts and logic took over: a conference with other ministry officials surely called for formal attire, although it appeared to be a routine affair, so no need for full ceremonial regalia. "I'm not very strong or skilled," he said, perusing the wardrobe until a flash of gold caught his eye. The robe was dark, almost black, but in the light its color swam between deep shades of navy and teal, contrasting with the gold brocade that wound all along its hem. What little Kuroko knew of court dress was based on stories and poetry, but he drew on those to select what he guessed was an appropriate number of layers for an outfit, adding them to his armful of draping cloth. "Fortunately, though, I'm good with children."

He turned, only to be blocked by Aomine in the frame of the doorway. Kuroko's eyes were about level with the sleek lines of the god's collarbones, and he fixed them there, resting on the hollow at the base of Aomine's throat while shoving the clothes at him. "I see you've decided to get up after all."

Aomine's arm closed briefly around the clothing, then let them fall to the floor. Kuroko resolutely did not look down. He couldn't have, anyway, with fingers sliding under his chin and forcing him to look up. Aomine's eyes were very blue, very close, and very… not angry. They were half-lidded when he said, "Kuroko Tetsuya," giving the name weight, and for the first time he was looking at Kuroko with more than a cursory glance. "There's something you forgot."

"Is that so?" Kuroko lifted his face another fraction of his own accord, and somehow the charged intensity of Aomine's full attention increased in kind, almost too much to bear. Kuroko could taste a storm in the air when he breathed in.

"Yeah. Your village gave you to me, so that makes you mine." A curve shaped itself along Aomine's mouth, and his fingertips on Kuroko's skin were warmer than they should have been. "Maybe I'll keep you after all."

Technically, it had been Kuroko's own selfish choice that landed him here, not the village's. He lowered his gaze, and in his flattest tone said, "I respectfully decline."

"Aw, that's no fun. Besides, what can you do about it? You're already here."

The arrogance inflating Aomine's tone made Kuroko's focus sharpen, cutting away the distractions until he could say with concise, steely intent, "In that case I _strongly_ decline." Just to prove how strong, and without really giving much thought as to the consequences, and because Kuroko was pretty certain whatever Aomine said or did next would deserve it, he let swing with his balled-up fist. 

The punch took Aomine completely by surprise. He let go and staggered backward, hand clapped over his cheek, eyes almost comically wide from the shock of it more than the injury itself. "You—you hit me!"

Kuroko contemplated his fist, knuckles smarting. "Yes. Because you were misbehaving."

"Misbe—I'm not a child! Is that how you'd treat a child down below?!"

Kuroko uncurled his fingers and shook them out. "I am fully aware that you are not a child, Aomine-sama. You are a god, so I expect you to behave as one." Taking care to step over the pile of clothes on the floor, Kuroko put some much-needed distance between himself and the sputtering god who was presently not much of a credit to his station.

A mulish furrow set heavy across Aomine's brow. "Oi, and what do you know about how gods should act?"

Fair point. Kuroko paused in thought for a minute before coming up with an answer. "All I know is that, as a mortal, I have always looked up to heaven." His gaze strayed towards the ceiling out of habit before dropping down, shoulders hitching in a shrug. "I've never understood it, and probably never will, but it's above the other realms for a reason, isn't it?"

Kuroko was anticipating something along the lines of a temper tantrum, or perhaps a sneering brush-off, continuing Aomine's pattern of immaturity and unfounded entitlement that kept driving Kuroko to impulses that bordered on madness. Breathing deeply, Kuroko tried to loosen the tangled mess in his chest that constricted so tight around his heart he sometimes felt it bleed. When he managed to look, though, he was met with a piercing stare, and the return of that heavy regard that kept him rooted to his spot with absolute effectiveness. 

"You're right," Aomine said, the quietest Kuroko had ever heard him, but with too much raw feeling to be called subdued. "You really don't understand."

It wasn't until Aomine looked away that Kuroko felt he could speak. His breath was reluctant to leave his lungs. "Aomine-sama—"

"I'll go to the damn conference. Happy?"

The field of Kuroko's emotions was far too barren for anything that remotely resembled happiness to grow there. There wasn't even a small modicum of satisfaction after all that effort. The only thing he could do was press his lips together and dip into a precise, minimally grateful bow.

#

The inkstick was higher quality than anything he'd ever used before, grinding smooth and pitch black upon the stone. Tight circles grew steadily more relaxed as his wrist eased into the motions. Wetting his brush and setting it to the paper, the strokes that emerged were bold and dark, but messy with an out-of-practice hand and the bleeding of his own chaotic feelings. There was no helping it, though; rather than make the conscious effort to neaten both his writing and heart, Kuroko poured the unseemly mess into an apt poem grabbed somewhere from the corners of his memory.

_On a day in the spring_  
 _When the light throughout the sky_  
 _Warms with tranquility,_  
 _Why is it with unsettled heart_  
 _That the cherry flowers fall?_

He supposed the cherry trees around Seirin might be in bloom now. They'd been on the cusp of flowering when he'd left, delayed by the long-lasting winter. Heaven's weather was more temperate, the trees outside his window having already scattered most of their petals, leaving but a few still clinging delicately to the branches where they were tickled by a gentle breeze.

Chin in hand, Kuroko drew a spindly, tapering line across the top of the paper, and with the tip of the brush he added a dusting of petal-prints drifting away from the branch. His painting skills were even worse than his handwriting, but he had plenty of time to practice. More time than he knew what to do with. There were no daily chores to complete, no meals to make, no fields to work, and no children to watch. Idleness weighed him down with lethargic melancholy.

So it was with unusual alacrity that the sound of a door opening made him sit up and abandon the desk. After passing most of the day with nothing but his own thoughts for company, there were plenty of things he wanted to talk about with Momoi if she didn't mind his questions. She'd been tremendously helpful to him so far—perhaps there was a way to repay her, even just a fraction.

Kuroko entered the reception room in a hopeful mood. "Momoi-sama—oh." He stopped in his tracks. "My apologies."

The look Aomine shot him was downright dirty. "Sorry I'm not Satsuki." He huffed and dropped heavily onto a padded daybed, limbs strewn in haphazard fashion across its length, uncaring that the graceful wing of his sleeve dragged along the floor. The room was spotless of course, so it was unlikely that dust would gather on the gold-embroidered hem. He was wearing the clothes Kuroko had picked out that morning (probably too lazy to have chosen something else, or so Kuroko reasoned), and he still managed to be resplendent in them despite his glaring lack of dignity. 

The grace of heaven could be impossibly unfair sometimes; it was almost enough to overshadow the mark of a swollen bruise raised across Aomine's cheek, dark purple mottled over the brown of his skin. Kuroko couldn't help but stare, the loose curl of his fingers twitching at the memory of impact with an audacious lack of guilt. Aomine, for his part, wore the injury with his typical insouciance, hooded gaze fixed on the ceiling while he drawled, "You got something you wanna say or what?" 

"…Not particularly."

"Liar." Rolling onto his side, Aomine propped his good cheek under his fist. "What's the use in swallowing your words at this point? Don't tell me this morning was a fluke, how boring that would be."

His transparency made some of the tension loosen in Kuroko's frame, and his eyebrows lifted minutely. "Are you trying to provoke me, Aomine-sama?"

"Depends. Am I gonna get hit again? 'Cause Imayoshi looked like he was laughing at me all day and that was really fucking annoying."

"I'm sure your wounded ego will survive."

"Yeah, but what about my wounded face?" He turned his head to display the discolored badge marring his features, although the imperfection suited him in a bizarrely human way. "This actually hurts, you know."

"…I didn't think it would leave a mark." Still not quite apologizing, Kuroko dared to approach and get a closer look at his handiwork (branded across the face of a _god_ , part of him still couldn't believe it). The swelling did look painful, and his knuckles, as if reminded, throbbed sorely in response.

Aomine went still under the scrutiny, though his eyes flickered at the remark. "What, did you expect it to heal in an instant?" 

"Something like that," Kuroko admitted. "After all, you're…" He trailed off, but this time all Aomine did was snort.

"Stupid," he said, sitting up and stretching his arms back to lean on them. He looked up at Kuroko with his head canted lazily to the side. "This is a human body, of course it has human weaknesses. It can even be destroyed." His grin was a white lightning flash of teeth. "Though you'd have to hit a _lot_ harder to manage that."

"Is that so?" Aomine's smirk widened as if daring him to try it. Such attempts never went well in the stories; those who tried always ended up facing heaven's wrath—more often than not at the hands of Aomine himself, designated administrator of divine justice. He had yet to punish Kuroko for his irreverence, though, so curiosity prompted him to ask, "How hard would that have to be?"

"At least on par with that idiot, Kagami, I guess…"

Out of all the gods, the thunder god and fire god were famous for not getting along, and were the only ones capable of shaking heaven down to its foundations. "In other words, it's impossible for an ordinary mortal."

"Disappointed?"

"Not particularly," Kuroko said, flat and honest. There was irreverence and then there was stupidity. Monumental stupidity, even. Those cautionary tales were told for a reason. "But what becomes of you when your body is destroyed?"

Aomine glanced down at the body in question. It bore no scars, Kuroko knew, so it may not heal fast but it must heal very thoroughly. "Eh, not much. I return to my original form for a while, which is pretty nice." He rolled his head back and exhaled slowly, eyes going unfocused as they stared up at the ceiling. "It's the best, actually. None of this bureaucratic bullshit to deal with. No conferences, no ministers. Just the entire stretch of the sky all to myself. It's the only time I can relax and let loose."

"What about the other day?" The question was out before Kuroko could think better of it and filter his inquisitiveness. He regretted bringing it up immediately.

Contrary to what Kuroko expected, though, Aomine only asked, "What other day?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Oh, come on. Spit it out."

_Fine, you asked for it._ "The day we met. When you changed forms. You didn't seem happy about it then."

"Huh?" The look of confusion on Aomine's face reminded Kuroko that the god had been rather hung-over at the time. Fortunately, though, understanding soon dawned. "Oh. Oh, that. Hah, no, that's different."

Somehow Kuroko had avoided a pitfall. He decided to push his luck. "What do you mean?"

Proving to be in an unusual good mood, Aomine readily answered. "That's just another mortal body. It's a bit better than being human, but still pretty damn limiting. It mimics the original form, but… let me put it this way. Heaven is the smallest realm. And heaven isn't big enough for all seven of us unless we're restraining ourselves. If I was in my original form, trust me, you'd know."

A bone-rattling chill shook its way along Kuroko's spine. He saw lightning flashes against a blackened sky behind his eyes. Wetting his lips, he made himself say, "I think I'd rather not see it."

"Good news for you, you probably won't." Contempt crept into Aomine's tone. "Akashi won't allow it. Too much trouble, he says. S'why he sent Kagami on some dumb campaign down below, while I'm stuck here bored out of my mind."

"Poor you." Finding his equilibrium again, Kuroko sent a pointed look at all the heavenly opulence surrounding them to indicate, _what a burden to live in such luxury._

"Hey now," Aomine said, but the protest lacked heat. "If I wasn't so bored I wouldn't have summoned you here. …Though, that wasn't such a bad thing after all."

_Speak for yourself_ , was what Kuroko first thought to say, but all that came out was a noncommittal, "Mm."

His lack of response did not pass unnoticed. Aomine lifted a brow, and to his credit he sounded more curious than accusing when he asked, "What, do you hate it here that much?"

"No. I don't hate it."

"Then…?"

"I'm not too fond of the part where you demanded a sacrifice from my village on a drunken whim."

"…Oh. Yeah." His eyes slid to the side and he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, as sheepish as any of the children back home when they'd been caught mid-trouble. "Well… sorry 'bout that."

One of the tight knots in Kuroko's chest loosened, leaving an empty feeling. He breathed a little easier because of it. "You do have a point, though." The concession was lighter than he thought it would be, and a tentative smile bloomed on Aomine's face as Kuroko continued, "It's not such a bad thing after all."

#

"Come on," Aomine said, grinning his anticipation. He spread his arms, uncaring that he stood at the edge of the world—or at least the edge of the terrace, stone platform giving way to air and a white-washed sea of clouds that drifted well below his feet rather than properly above his head. His goading voice carried over the strong breeze that snapped the loose folds of his clothes. "What are you waiting for?"

When Kuroko had made an offhand comment about not getting to see much of heaven, Aomine had jumped to fix that. Yet this… was not quite what Kuroko had in mind. He'd been thinking more along the lines of touring the rest of the palace, quietly taking in its grandeur by walking its halls and sampling its vast spaces. In retrospect, he'd been thinking from a mortal point of view. He couldn't really be blamed for that, but it seemed that everything about heaven existed on a much broader scale than what he was accustomed to. Kuroko was already well aware of the smallness of his existence, especially from heights such as these, and so it was with healthy trepidation that he crossed those remaining steps to where Aomine so eagerly waited.

The ground beneath Kuroko's feet shrank until he could suddenly peer down the sheer cut of the cliff, rocky mountainside plunging into mists far, far below. All at once his head felt light, dizzy with the swirl of clouds shrouding an unknown landscape. His breath came short and strained through the thinning of air in his lungs. Some vague recollection snagged in the midst of his scattered, rushing thoughts: a story about a mortal who fell from heaven, simply tipping over the edge like Kuroko was in danger of doing right now. Though the circumstances varied depending on the version of the tale, they all agreed that the unfortunate soul was still falling to this day, never to hit the ground.

Kuroko's legs chose that moment to falter. He swayed in place, but then was steadied by a hand on his shoulder. Aomine kept him upright on the highest precipice in all of heaven, the very top of the entire world. Kuroko's life, or at least his well-being, was literally in the hands of a god—the last god any sane person would want to depend on. 

But in that moment, Kuroko didn't mind. Aomine's presence was a welcome lifeline, and Kuroko gripped the hand anchoring him to safety.

Laughing without a care, the sound of it windswept and a little wild, Aomine prompted, "Where are you looking? The view is over there."

Kuroko's head gave a miniscule shake, heart beating a storm of flutters in his throat. He could barely breathe through the chaotic little beats, eyes fixed on his toes and the emptiness where the ground disappeared just before them.

"Come on," Aomine said again, and the length of his arm was a solid weight settling across Kuroko's shoulders. "I got you."

"You better," Kuroko muttered, grasping at Aomine's fingers. Aomine didn't even wince, just laughed again, and Kuroko felt the vibration of it from where he was tucked in the lee of Aomine's body.

Slowly, Kuroko dragged his gaze away from the moor of his own feet, and out across the expanse of sky laid before him. He nearly lost his balance again, coming to lean on Aomine's larger frame. 

Clouds rolled endlessly into the distance, seeped in the golden light of a low-hanging sun, and washing up against the sides of several mountainous pillars. Each one presented a unique landscape with exquisite sprawls of architecture. The closest was also the largest, boasting an entire city within its walled premises. Scarlet-tiled roofs lined the wide, flattened mountaintop, and tiered at the head of the city was an immense palace grander even than the one Kuroko knew. Patterned into the tiles of the ceremonial outer hall was the crest of the Heavenly Emperor: seven dragon scales fixed in the shape of a star.

"That's…"

"The Imperial Palace, yeah. You think that's impressive, check out the others."

Another one of the mountains was densely forested, buildings cradled within the embrace of trees and pathways wreathed in braids of flowering growth. Aomine identified it as the Auspicious Palace of Earthly Devotion.

The third, from what Kuroko could see, was a fortress of forbidding bare rock carved deeply into the mountainside. He stared, nonplussed, when Aomine called it the Hidden Palace of Wisteria Falls. "Why?" he asked, and Aomine snickered.

"It's different on the inside. If you can find it, that is." 

No matter how Kuroko pressed, Aomine wouldn't explain further, withholding the secret with utmost delight. Kuroko had to restrain himself from shoving an elbow in Aomine's side, as it probably wasn't a good idea to jeopardize his support.

The other mountains were too far away to discern clearly, but light sparkled off one where waterfalls laced down its sides, creating a colorful aurora that hung suspended in the air around it. The Painted Palace of Golden Sanctuary, Aomine called it with a derisive snort, before pointing out a smaller cluster of peaks as Momoi's Serene Palace of Distant Echoes.

Lastly was the Blazing Palace of Divine Glory, a dark shape in the west engulfed in fiery hues that seemed to set the horizon aflame. Kuroko's eyes watered as he squinted through the glare of the sun. 

"Seven heavenly palaces for seven dragon gods," he recited from the tales, blinking and rubbing his arm across his eyes with the sight of heaven burned behind them. "It truly is a magnificent view."

"I can tell you're moved to tears by it." There was enough comfort in Aomine's joking lilt, and in the security of his hold, that Kuroko briefly forgot himself.

He let his eyes fall half closed and relaxed, feeling pleasure instead of panic at the wind on his face. His pulse still fluttered, but it was a ticklish, welcome sensation that warmed the blood in his veins.

Fingers squeezed and tugged Kuroko away from the ledge. "Here comes trouble," Aomine said, but not without affection as a slender, pearlescent form came sailing towards them on the breeze.

Scales blushing pink and tinged with the sun's glow, Momoi wove in graceful, leisurely loops to hover above the landing before she gently touched down. Her dragon form was smaller than Aomine's, and comparatively lither, but still long enough to wind around the open area in a flexible coil. She flicked her tail in the same way she might twitch her clothes into place. Then, with a full-body shudder, she shed the form in a rain of scented petals that were carried away on the wind.

"Good evening!" chirped the woman who emerged from the flowery storm, one hand lifted to brush aside streaming locks of hair from her face. In the other hand she cradled a large, cloth-wrapped bundle. "I brought dinner."

Kuroko wasn't sure why that made Aomine groan and hunch down like he had half a mind to slink away—at least not until the three of them had relocated to one of the garden gazebos, and he found himself seated before a spread of very… _unique_ cuisine that Momoi was proud to have made with her own hands. She served everything with a cheery and expectant air, seemingly impervious to the stomach-turning smell of food that was somehow both burnt and raw.

"Oi, Satsuki." Something blackened and lumpy beyond recognition clung to Aomine's chopsticks. "Is this supposed to be edible?"

"What kind of question is that?" Momoi pouted while Aomine shook the morsel loose and it plopped back onto the dish, leaving a flaky and gooey residue. He stared meaningfully at it, then at her, until she sniffed and crossed her arms. "Well, regardless, I'm sure it won't kill you."

"There's something wrong with that logic! And besides," he jabbed his chopsticks in Kuroko's direction, "what did he do to deserve being poisoned?" 

"Oh, now you're just exaggerating." But the look Momoi sent Kuroko's way was pinched with worry. "Maybe, though… ah, maybe it doesn't suit a mortal's taste?"

Aomine muttered under his breath, "Doesn't suit _anyone's_ taste." Then he winced and reached down to rub his shin while Momoi retracted her foot and smiled thinly at him.

"Don't be rude, Dai-chan. And Kuroko-kun, it's fine, we can have something else prepared." The expression on her face brightened, but the rest of her slumped in defeat.

Kuroko merely picked up his rice bowl, its contents overcooked almost to the consistency of porridge. _In fact…_ Holding it close, he scooped some of the flavorless mush into his mouth and swallowed easily while the other two looked on in amazement. Kuroko blinked at them and lowered the bowl. "It's just plain rice porridge." Or close enough. It wasn't toxic at any rate.

Aomine stirred a chopstick in his own bowl. "Optimistic, but hey, I guess you're right. Congratulations, Satsuki, you made something that can be counted as food. Unappetizing, but still food."

Momoi didn't rise to the taunt; she continued to stare at Kuroko and was beginning to look a bit damp around the eyes. Her lip trembled. "Is it _really_ okay?"

Well, he wouldn't call it delicious but there was nothing wrong with it, either. Coincidentally, rice porridge was one of the few dishes Riko could reliably make, so he was used to this taste. "It reminds me of home, actually."

Aomine guffawed. "Don't tell me your own mother cooks like Satsuki."

Kuroko froze for a long second. Food turned to sludge in his mouth until he remembered to swallow, forcing it down to settle cold and heavy in his stomach. "No," he said, setting his chopsticks and half-eaten bowl aside so he could clasp his hands together in his lap, out of sight. "She was a good cook, from what I can remember." Then, tightening his hands along with his resolve, he added, "She died several years ago." _During a storm. An accident, maybe, or…_ He couldn't finish.

"Oh," Aomine said, sounding vaguely uncomfortable, the way people tended to when conversation turned to such topics. "Guess I shouldn't have brought it up. Sorry."

Kuroko had received enough impersonal sympathy over the years to recognize when he heard it, detached and often awkward despite the good intentions. For a very brief moment, he burned to open his mouth and just say it, _you killed her_ , and see what reaction that would get—shock or guilt or something real. Something violent, like in all the stories. Only, the stories weren't very real, and Kuroko wasn't very willing to cut himself open to say those words, years overgrown and thorny as they were. He was used to their tangled pressure. "It's fine," he said, as much to himself as to his audience. "It was a long time ago. If I may be excused?"

He wasn't quite out of earshot when he heard Aomine remark, "Doesn't seem all that 'fine' to me—ow!"

"Dai-chan, I can't believe you!"

Nothing like the stories at all.

#

When Akashi gave an order, it was in everyone's best interest to obey. They'd all learned that the hard way at least once. Some of them required repeat lessons; Kagami in particular seemed to be a glutton for punishment, finding reason to take issue with Akashi's authority every couple of centuries almost like clockwork. Aomine had instigated his share of minor rebellions over the past millennia as well, never to good result, and so he reminded himself again and again that the price for disobeying was never worth whatever _really good_ idea he had come up with (the success rate of these reminders was about 50/50).

He kept all that in mind as he wandered through the streets of the lowest point in heaven, where clouds gathered in a thick fog permeating the area. Normally the Veil—the boundary between realms—was nigh impossible for all but the gods to navigate, and so Akashi had allowed for one exception. On his command a town had been created (not _built_ , one had to point out, but _created_ ), a town that managed to exist in each realm and served to bridge them together. Since ordinary humans rarely found their way there, it was mainly used by spirits, demons, and sages, while the gods needed no such measure to go wherever they pleased.

Unless that god was collared by Akashi's order. 

_Technically_ , though, the town was part of heaven, and since it also served as a checkpoint manned by the imperial guard then Aomine had plenty of legitimate reason to be there. He just had to be careful to not get lost and wind up on the literal wrong side of town. But his sense of direction wasn't the best, so maybe he couldn't really be blamed for taking a bad turn. By accident. Accidents happened, even to gods. He might not remember that a certain alleyway made a shortcut straight to the base of the mountain in the spirit realm…

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Aomine's ambling walk came to a dead halt at the familiar utterance of Momoi's deputy assistant. Keeping completely still, he felt for any telltale stirring of wind, half-expecting Momoi to come down on him like an angry gale, demanding, "Just where do you think you're going?"

Thankfully, when he peeked around the corner his sister was nowhere in sight. Sakurai was alone cowering against the wall, corralled by a handful of hulking forms. They were broad-faced with oily skin gleaming all over their bare, dark-greenish heads. Aomine didn't recognize the crest decorating their uniforms, but he guessed it belonged to the richly dressed demon that stood nearby, oozing self-importance as well as noxious fluids.

Wrinkling his nose, Aomine turned away from the scene only to be arrested by the sound of another voice speaking out, "Please stop this."

_Can't be._ Aomine whirled around again, his surprise identical to Sakurai's at the sight of a human boy standing between him and the demons.

Kuroko appeared calm in the face of several open-mouthed, needle-toothed grins. There was a sickly color to his complexion, but it was hard to say whether that was due to fear or merely the swampy stench coming off the group (it made Aomine want to gag from where he was). "Oi," Aomine grumbled under his breath, "what does he think he's doing?"

The bruisers parted for their boss to waddle forward and thrust his ugly face close, croaking words that were nearly unintelligible in the wet contractions of his throat. "Human, are you? Move aside, I have business with the gods." 

Kuroko's mouth tightened, lips almost white, but he didn't flinch when another mortal might have simply dropped. "If you have official business, by all means take it to the palace. There's no need to trouble others."

A series of thick, burbling sounds—laughter—sprang up from demon to demon. "Who said I'm troubling anyone? I was only asking for directions, it's like a maze in here. The Heavenly Emperor should really do something about that. This is quite an inconvenience after coming all this way."

"W-well," Sakurai said with a quavering eagerness to please, "the nature of the Veil is meant to discourage, ah, certain types from entering…" He shrank even more into himself when the demons rumbled dangerously at him. 

From his observation point, Aomine's palm smacked against his forehead. 

"I'm sorry! That's just the way it was made! I'm very sorry for the trouble it's caused you!" Sakurai was an apologetic blur bobbing up and down in repeated bows.

Meanwhile, Kuroko hadn't lost his stubborn resolve despite the demons closing in on them.

The leader puffed up in rage. "How dare—"

"Maybe the Veil does need to be fixed," Aomine interrupted loudly. He came around the corner, but only far enough to lean a shoulder against the wall and loosely cross his arms. "I mean, what's the point if it doesn't keep out the undesirables?"

"I beg your pardon?" A pair of yellow amphibian eyes narrowed on him. There was no recognition in them—he must have made a long journey indeed, not that the knowledge garnered much sympathy.

"You heard me." Aomine's head tipped to the side, gaze idle as it passed over the bunch of demons. They didn't look strong enough for a good fight, but he could use a bit of exercise. A charge in the air gathered.

#

"That was even more of a waste than I thought." Aomine grimaced and waved a hand in front of his nose, hoping the smell wasn't going to stick to him. He'd barely shown a fraction of his power and they'd started sweating fear. Then Sakurai had gone and yelped out, "Aomine-sama!" like an idiot. So instead of a halfway decent fight he'd gotten a bunch of kowtowing idiots sniveling at his feet. At the very least, they'd been prompt to obey his snarling command to get out of his sight.

"I suppose this once your posturing was good for something." Kuroko appeared as calm as ever, the ungrateful brat.

Aomine delivered a rapid flick to Kuroko's unguarded forehead, taking satisfaction in his startled flinch. "And you," Aomine said, this close to shaking an admonishing finger the way Momoi often did at him. "What were you thinking?" He didn't mention the _why are you here_ part of the question. Aomine wasn't that stupid. As much as he didn't really want to, he _had_ put in the official request to reverse his claim on Kuroko as an offering. If the ministry's approval was abnormally slow in coming, well, he was a busy person and didn't have time to spare to expedite the process. It could take a while. Maybe a long while. …And at this rate he'd never be bored with Kuroko staying as his guest. 

"They were being rude," Kuroko said, as if close calls with the spirit realm's more unsavory denizens were a regular occurrence. Frowning and rubbing the slightly reddened mark on his forehead, he added, "I can't say I condone bullying, either."

"That's all well and good, but you saw how fast Ryou got out of here, didn't you?" As soon as Aomine had turned his ire on him, Sakurai had gulped and was gone in an eyeblink. "He may look like that, but he's a kamaitachi, you know. Satsuki wouldn't keep him around if he was as pathetic as he looks."

"Still…"

"I'm just saying, you could have gotten one of the guards to handle it. Frog-face was seriously going to kill you."

"Maybe," Kuroko granted, but Aomine was beginning to recognize the signs of him being stubborn—it was the set of his jaw, the fixed look in his eye, and the barely discernable lift in his tone. "However, there was no one else around to ask."

Now that was just untrue. " _I_ was there!" Never mind that he would have left Sakurai to his fate if not for Kuroko's presence, but still. He'd been there. That contributed to his point. Maybe. Or maybe not, if the look Kuroko was giving him was any indication. Aomine puffed up. "What, the Chief of Security isn't good enough for you?"

Kuroko gave a slow blink. Then, with a curious head-tilt, he asked, "Are you really?" _Huh, learned something new,_ said the faint trace of expression on his face.

Aomine's jaw dropped. He gawked openly for a span of several seconds, but Kuroko didn't so much as twitch with the hint of a joke. "What… but how… how did you not know that?"

"Well…" Kuroko's gaze slid sideways. "I'm afraid it wasn't mentioned in the stories. You're rather more known for… that is…"

The uncharacteristic hedging gave Aomine just enough room to get his bearings and work up an indignant growl. "That's just…! That's not my _actual job_. I don't numb my ass in meetings all day just to smite the next delusional fool who thinks it's his turn to sit on the emperor's throne." No, the meetings for those cases were always private affairs with Akashi—less of a conversation and more of a one-way absolute order—and only for the times when Aomine felt a pathetic need to make a token protest. Otherwise there was no talking at all, just a blood-red scroll to command him to do heaven's dirty work. Scowling now, he shoved away at his darkening thoughts. "Mortals really don't know that? Really?"

"We only have stories to go on, and those are hardly proven facts. Still," Kuroko added before Aomine could explode, "if it was me I would also feel wronged."

Aomine felt more than wronged. There was a good deal of rage in there for putting up with heaven's excruciating bureaucracy for thousands of years only for his work to be forgotten about. There was also a heavy, rock-solid certainty that of course in the passing lives of mortals they would only ever remember the instant of a flash breaking across the earth, oblivious to the invisible electric currents hidden above the clouds. 

He breathed in deeply, and on the exhale were words he knew better than to say, but he said them regardless. "What do they know of me in the mortal realm?"

The question earned a careful reply, for all that it was spoken easily enough. "They say you challenged Kagami-sama before letting Momoi-sama become his consort."

"You already know that's a load of crap, you've met Satsuki."

"Indeed. I was planning to tell her about that one if she needed a good laugh."

Aomine grumbled, but his sister laughing at his expense was nothing new. "Yeah, so what else?"

"There's a legend about Thunder Falls being formed after a fight with Kise-sama when he stole the affections of a courtesan you favored."

This one made Aomine sneer. "As if he could. The waterfall I'll give you, I think I remember something like that when I was punching Kise in the face, but it wasn't over something as stupid as a woman."

"What was the reason, then?"

"I dunno. Don't look at me like that, if you knew Kise you'd understand. Ah, geez. I can't believe mortals are this ignorant."

_"Refrain from interfering with the mortal realm,"_ Akashi had told everyone, which later became _"You are forbidden from entering"_ in Aomine's case. Something about the balance between realms being upset and his tendency to run wild in his true form. But that was only natural when he'd been born of nature at its wildest and most powerful. It was the same for all of them except Akashi, ironically the most chaotic of the gods if not for the star of Order inhabiting his eye.

So here they were, not interfering, letting the mortals flicker in and out of existence like fireflies passing through the night. Short lives, short memories. Something would inevitably change. Like waking up in the morning to find the world looked a little different than it had the day before.

Trying to guess what Akashi was planning was a waste of time and an impossible feat besides, but every now and then Aomine had to wonder.

"What else?" he made himself ask again.

Kuroko became quiet, thoughtful. He was a deliberate sort, and in some way he was not unlike Akashi, but less… well, just less in a lot of aspects, which was really for the better. But there was a shadow of familiar, unspoken purpose when Kuroko chose what to say next.

"Stories tell of Shinka, a city that once flourished in the far western lands. It was home to the most courageous and fiercest worshippers of the Fire God. As befitting of the patron of war's followers, they were unparalleled in conquest, soon spreading a vast and prosperous empire across the country. For all that they were warlike, they were also known to be honorable and loyal. They had their god's favor. They were beloved. 

Until one day Shinka was blasted out of existence. In a single night, the city became a scar carved into the earth, sacrificed to a jealous god's anger and spite. The ruins smoldered for weeks and the Fire God mourned, vowing to never forgive the Thunder God after that."

The mists of the Veil were cool on Aomine's skin, reminding him that the heat of searing flame he felt came from distant memory. The wind carried only muted sighs through empty streets, not the thunderous breaking of stone, and certainly not the cacophonous roar of thousands of anguished cries. They'd been loyal to the end, he remembered, some part of him impressed in hindsight that not one of them had begged for mercy. They would have received none, anyway. The mortals thought him to be incarnation of judgment, that much Aomine had always known, and it was a very cruel kind of judgment that left no room for mercy. The people of Shinka had not called his name in order to be spared. Instead, when they'd looked up at the storm hanging over their heads, they'd called him with a curse on their dying breaths.

"Well," Aomine said in a voice that was light and grim around the edges. He showed his teeth, parodying a smile. "Guess that's one truth to survive the ages. Explains a lot, doesn't it?"

#

Kuroko wasn't sure what to expect when he received the summons. It had been a few days since his venture beyond the palace to the eerie town sleeping on the outskirts of heaven, so his first thought was that perhaps he was in for a belated scolding. If so, he would accept it as his due for pushing the boundaries. He'd only gone so far just to see if he could. The trouble that ensued—that was certainly his fault. He could have blamed part of it on Aomine, but the mere thought of Aomine made something twist in the pit of his stomach. They hadn't exchanged a word since their last meeting.

 _On the other hand,_ Kuroko forced his thoughts in another direction, _there could be news regarding my return home._ It was the most hopeful option by far. He should have been more excited, or at least more relieved by the prospect. Instead, trepidation dogged his clouded thoughts as he followed an aide through the corridors of the inner palace.

When they came to a door carved with the image of two circling carp, the aide knocked and announced, "I've brought him, Imayoshi-sama."

"That was quick," Imayoshi said when Kuroko entered alone. The deputy assistant was seated behind a large desk that was more careworn than Kuroko was used to seeing in heaven, with nicks in the plain, dark wood rubbed smooth with age. Behind him were rows of shelves filled with books and scrolls. Surprisingly, a careful cultivation of plants thrived in the corner by the window. Imayoshi set aside the stack of documents he'd been perusing, folded his hands flat atop the desk, and offered up a benign smile. "How convenient of you to be nearby. I rather expected we'd have to send a search party down to the spirit realm."

So it was a scolding after all. Kuroko bowed, no more and no less than was appropriate. "Please accept my apologies."

There was a sound of robes rustling, and a note of amused exasperation pulled from Imayoshi's voice. "Well, no harm came of it."

_This time,_ Kuroko heard the warning at the end of the sentence as he straightened. "I will be more considerate in the future."

"Oh, no doubt." Imayoshi's whole countenance brightened with suspicious cheer. "I take it you've been finding yourself at loose ends, yes? I do believe I have a solution for that." He leaned back in his chair, becoming less innocent by the second as pretenses fell away. "I heard from Momoi that you can read and write."

Kuroko blinked. Whatever he'd been expecting, that wasn't it. "Yes, my mother taught me. She was a student at Shinsei University." For a while, anyway. Momoi knew her by name, surely that was more than adequate for credentials.

"A good, upstanding institution," Imayoshi said evenly. "Though perhaps a trifle too preoccupied with their image." There might have been a knowing gleam in his eye, but it was hard to tell. "In any case, Kuroko-kun, how would you like to put your skills to use?"

"I would be grateful for the opportunity."

"Of course you would. After all, 'to be diligent is a way of life.'"

"'And to be idle is a short road to death.'"

"Just so." Imayoshi smirked. "I'm glad we understand one another. Shall we get busy, then?"

"Certainly." 

Truth be told, Kuroko _was_ pleased to be of service, even if all he did was busywork meant to keep him out of trouble. He filed documents, delivered messages, and copied texts once Imayoshi was satisfied with the legibility of his handwriting. Kuroko was unsurprised to find that the bulk of the ministry's affairs were largely managed by the capable deputy rather than the temperamental chief—a responsibility that Imayoshi shouldered with age-old acceptance. "Besides," he explained without having to be explicitly asked, "at this point if Aomine tried to involve himself he'd only get in the way. We're all better off without him mucking up our system."

That suited Kuroko just fine. He appreciated having a distraction; a steady supply of work left him with very little time to spend reflecting on his choices and pondering the merits of ignorance. Better to bury himself in easy and uncomplicated tasks. He replenished ink supplies, made tea, and ferried books back and forth from the library.

It was a temporary measure at best, so when he found himself with an armful of books standing over Aomine's dozing form sprawled on the floor, Kuroko only paused for a moment before gathering himself and giving the god a wide berth.

Moving as quietly as he could, he located the shelf where the books belonged and placed them in their proper order—though he had to admit it was an exercise in futility and he mainly did it to duck out of sight for a while. The whole library, while impressive in size, couldn't really be called organized. Imayoshi kept the most useful books in his office, and many of the others likely to be called upon were easy to find near the entrance, but there had been than one occasion where Kuroko spent half the day hunting down a particular text among the stacks. On those days he was significantly less grateful for the menial jobs he'd been assigned.

His eyes tracked across a row of titles and authors. Most were in fine condition despite their staggering age. There were books on law and philosophy, histories of people and places he'd never heard of, and collections of stories both familiar and unknown. In addition, there was erotica. A great deal of erotica ranging from the artistically renowned to, well, the unmistakably lurid. 

Kuroko emerged from the stacks with the intent to leave straightaway, but traitorously, his gaze fell upon Aomine's still-sleeping form as he passed. His steps slowed, and ultimately stopped.

Aomine rested among a haphazard pile of books, clothes rumpled and limbs all askew. Such a makeshift bed shouldn't have been comfortable, but Aomine's indolent manner was much like a cat's in that he could make himself at home wherever he pleased. Here he'd picked a spot where sunlight suffused the air in a warm, golden glow. It was the most peaceful Kuroko had seen him in days.

Crouching nearby, he skimmed some of the titles scattered around the floor. They were as eclectic as the rest of the library: there was a book on ancient war tactics, one in a language he couldn't discern, and a collection of genre paintings that lay open to a page depicting a group of village women bathing in a stream.

_Typical_ , Kuroko thought, attention drawn back to the sight of Aomine's relaxed face. His mouth hung slightly open and there was a damp spot of drool marring the book cover under his cheek. _Again, just like a child._ Kuroko tugged the hem of his sleeve over his hand and wiped indulgently at the corner of Aomine's mouth.

He was starting to pull away when his wrist was caught in a loose, harmless grip. Slivers of blue showed when Aomine's eyes cracked open. "You," he said, breathing the word out on a slow exhale, lethargic from slumber.

Kuroko smoothed his voice and features into blankness. "I apologize for disturbing you."

He half-expected Aomine to wave him off, roll over, and return to his nap. More than expected, Kuroko _wished_ for it so he could escape without further incident. But contrary as always, Aomine yawned wide and stretched in a full-body flex, arching partway off the floor before sinking back down and blinking fully awake. "Damn, I was in the middle of—no, wait, this is perfect." He still had Kuroko by the wrist and pulled until Kuroko was forced to sit by his side or topple over. "Get comfortable," Aomine said, sifting through the piles of books. "Where did—there it is."

The book he unearthed bore the title, _"Divine Power: Harnessing the Elements."_ There was no author listed, but Kuroko recognized Momoi's clean script even before he noticed the telltale subheading, _"Idiot Dai-chan Edition."_

Sensing Kuroko's amusement, Aomine muttered, "Satsuki thinks she's hilarious," while leafing through the pages. He found what he was looking for in short order and studied a passage intently.

Kuroko skimmed the text with mounting apprehension as he caught the words, "Chosen," "contract," and "access to the god's domain." He sucked in a breath.

Aomine noticed and caught his eye, tapping the page. "Do you know what this means?"

He knew the stories of course; tales of how the distant gods who refrained from direct interference would occasionally choose to work through a mortal vessel instead. Momoi's writing explained the process, and it wasn't a simple matter of bequeathing some of the god's power. The gods embodied their elements, and it was outright impossible to isolate part of it and give it away. So instead, the god's Chosen was granted the ability to channel power straight from the god himself.

_"Theoretically,"_ she wrote, _"your Chosen would have all of your power at his or her disposal. But mortal bodies are fragile, they'd be destroyed if they were connected to all of that, never mind trying to control it. In order to work around the limitations of the vessel, there are various methods depending on the situation…"_

The situations were usually ones that required a champion to lead the way, and as such most of the tales were about Kagami's Chosen wielding divine fire into battle—the kind of battles that changed the course of history. Kuroko was certain he was not war hero material.

"I understand what it is, but…"

"But nothing." Aomine turned Kuroko's hand over and touched his open palm. Sparks tingled across his skin and made his fingers twitch automatically, though there was no pain. "Look, we don't get a lot of mortals around here and you're pretty damn defenseless. You've got a nose for trouble, too. Next time you decide to get into it with a bunch of nasty spirits, I might not be around to chase them off."

Kuroko twitched again in Aomine's hold, but this time there was no jolt of energy to blame it on. "You're worried about me."

The statement had an instant effect. Aomine's shoulders hitched, tense and defensive. "I'm just…!" His grip tightened and he glowered, but only briefly before his glare shifted away. "You wanna live long enough to return home, right? I'm just doing you a favor since it was kinda my fault in the first place. That's all."

Kuroko became aware of an ache in his face and realized he was straining not to smile. Ducking his head, he mumbled, "Thank you, Aomine-sama."

Aomine's reply was equally indistinct, and several times more awkward. "You're welcome, I guess." 

More sparks skittered across Kuroko's palm where Aomine traced a crackling, curved line that formed a closed circle. It still didn't hurt, but there was an ache in Kuroko's chest that did, just a little. _I have no idea what I'm doing._ But he didn't tell Aomine to stop.

Blue-white light was drawn into his skin with every pass of Aomine's finger. Lettering appeared along the lines, too small and shining too intensely to read. Kuroko averted his gaze from the brilliance, and despite his efforts he wound up staring at Aomine's face instead where a look of rare concentration schooled his features. His eyes were alight with his work, stormy blue flickering with spots of brightness.

When Aomine spoke it was abrupt, though his attention never strayed from his task. "You're fine with this, aren't you? I mean, you'd say if you weren't, right?"

It seemed a bit late to ask, but Kuroko answered truthfully, "I've no objections."

"Good. I guess if you did, you'd just punch me again."

Kuroko couldn't help it; he huffed out a quiet laugh. "You're never going to let that go, are you."

"Nope." A grin pulled up the corners of Aomine's mouth. "Not that I'm trying to change your mind here, but I gotta confess: I've never done this before."

"I see."

"I figure if Bakagami can do it, though, it can't be that hard."

Kuroko let the information sink in, but his nerves failed to be rattled. He was calmer than he thought he should be. Then again, this wasn't the first time. "I put my life in your hands from the start." The words were out before he could properly weigh their value. He hadn't meant to voice a confession of his own, but there was no taking it back now.

Aomine, for his part, didn't falter. "Yeah," he agreed, curt and then quiet. A stretch of floundering silence followed until at last he breathed deeply. "Okay. This part might be kind of intense."

"Understood."

Aomine clasped Kuroko's hand in his own and the light was smothered to nothing between them. Not even a glimmer showed through.

For a moment Kuroko felt nothing except the beat of his heart. Quiet at first, then the sound of it grew louder, filling him with its steady, insistent pace. His chest throbbed and he curled helplessly inward, but the ache radiated out from his center with increasing, alarming force until every bone and muscle and fiber vibrated in time with that continuous, unchanging march. The stretch of his skin pulsed, a fragile barrier against the onslaught. He barely held himself together. There was no end to the pounding as it encompassed him.

Gradually, even his awareness was overcome. There was only a beat, an absence, and a beat again. Over and over, it rolled in and withdrew. His body wasn't his to control anymore, so overwhelmed was it by an incessant, unhurried tide.

The push and pull of it spilled out, surrounding him, deep and powerful and relentless. Sound and sensation were a continuous resonance without escape or reprieve. It didn't matter how he tried to block it out. It didn't matter how small he curled into himself. The feeling was inside and outside, a tightness squeezing the air from his chest and an echo bigger than his body. Immeasurable and endless. He forgot how to breathe. There was no need to breathe anymore. He would drown and fade and be nothing but a pulse of beats going on and on and on forever.

There was pressure, though. A different kind. It was localized to a specific point, disconnected from the all-encompassing vastness. A small, singular thing. Like an anchor tying him to something else. To someone else.

Aomine's grip on his hand was starting to hurt.

"Ow," Kuroko intoned.

A rush of sound followed, incomprehensible at first, coalescing into a jumble of repeated syllables that he came to recognize as his name.

"Tetsu? Oi, Tetsu!"

"Aomine-sama," he said groggily, gazing up at a face that was creased in concern, and for some reason upside-down.

"Seven fucking hells, Tetsu, don't scare me like that!" Aomine looked unusually pale in addition to being upside-down. 

A snatch of story skittered through the clutter of Kuroko's thoughts. _And so the world came to be with seven dragon gods ascended to heaven, six chaos lords descended to hell, and one empty throne remained…_

"Does that count as blasphemy coming from a god?" he wondered.

"I'm a god, I'll do what I want," Aomine snapped. "Are you okay or are you going to talk nonsense at me?" 

Slowly, through the swimming blur of his head, Kuroko realized he was slumped against Aomine's chest. He could feel him breathing, and very faintly hear the anxious pounding of his heart. It was a small, contained sound. "What happened?" Part of Kuroko felt that he should make an attempt to move. The other part really did not care and stayed right where he was. At the most he made himself wriggle his fingers that were being crushed in an iron grip. "That hurts." 

Aomine's hold loosened, but he didn't let go. Kuroko was a little bit glad for that.

"I don't know, you just keeled over suddenly. I thought something went wrong. How do you feel?"

"Woozy, mostly." He frowned, knowing he could come up with better than that, but it took so much effort. "…You were right. That was awfully intense."

Aomine's heartbeat was beginning to settle down. Kuroko closed his eyes, his own heartbeat a matching echo. He felt Aomine's voice as much as he heard it. "Do you think it worked?"

"…I think it did." Probably better than either of them expected. 

"Good. Because I don't know if I'd want to try it again."

Kuroko shivered, remembering the impossible extent of Aomine's power. It wasn't all flashy lightning and roaring thunder. It wasn't even particularly painful. It was just… terrifyingly overwhelming. "Agreed."

There was a light touch near his temple, and a tentative brush of fingers through the ends of his hair. Almost but not quite an affectionate ruffle. All that indomitable power at his disposal, and still Aomine could be gentle. Even apologetic, though it was rough-edged with self-reproach. "That bad, huh?"

"It was a bit much."

"…I'm sorry."

Kuroko let out a small snort. Out of all the things Aomine could apologize for, this one was far from the worst. "It's fine. I'm fine. And it worked."

Aomine's hand in Kuroko's shifted, uncertain, and began to pull away. Kuroko very nearly protested at the hint of cool air on his bereft palm, but he was stopped short by a pulse of warmth coming alive in the space between them.

There was a flicker, then a flash, and a crackling line jumped from Aomine's hand to his. Kuroko tensed but there wasn't even a mild shock, only a subdued spread of heat as a web of sparks climbed along his skin. Tiny forks of lightning leapt between his fingers and crawled down his wrist, sinking into the fabric of his sleeve where they chased each other like white-hot threads.

When he dragged his gaze back up he found Aomine watching his face intently. Kuroko wasn't sure what could possibly be showing in his expression, but whatever it was made Aomine's lips twitch in a half-smile. He tipped his head, part question and part challenge, while slowly pulling his hand further away. 

As the distance increased, the energy bridging them grew stronger. The snaps of lightning that wove around Kuroko's hand began to tingle. They twisted when he rotated his wrist and gathered when he curled his fingers, eager to be shaped and used. He could mold them, spin them into a true air-splitting lightning bolt as hot and fierce and terrible as anything that lanced down from the sky.

The coils of light flashing in his hand were only playful, but they could be turned into something punishing. That was the thunder god's power. It was Kuroko's power now, too, legendary destruction at his fingertips.

Something new must have shown on his face because Aomine brought his hand close again until they were almost touching, and the lightning narrowed to barely there glimmers. "It's okay," he said. "It won't hurt you. I wouldn't hurt you."

Kuroko didn't believe him. He couldn't. It was far too late, the damage had been done before they'd even met. But when Kuroko closed the gap and felt the warmth of Aomine's skin melt along his, he wanted to believe it.

_I believe you wouldn't **intend** to._

He still didn't know what he was doing. He still didn't plan to stop, either.

#

The courtyard had changed since the last time Momoi had to wait here. Gone were the round flagstones dotting a forked path between islands of mossy rock and meticulously sculpted trees. Now the garden had become even sparser, with a lone pine jutting up from the center of a sea of raked gravel. Gray ripples lapped at the four sides of the courtyard that boxed the picture in.

How long had it been? Two centuries at least. Or maybe three. She couldn't remember the reason, but it must have had something to do with her idiot brothers or idiot husband, possibly all three at once. The trouble they caused increased exponentially when combined, and she'd long since given up on keeping tally of their messes.

_"Or,"_ she could just hear Aomine snigger, _"you're finally going senile, Satsuki. It was bound to happen one of these—"_

Mentally, she swatted his commentary away, pest that he was. But now she was reminded of how the Aomine in her head always sounded different—younger—than the real thing had sounded in too many years. Or he had until recently, that is. It was good to hear his laughter echoing through the halls of that towering palace of his again. It would be even better if it could last.

_If,_ though. Momoi folded her arms and leaned against a pillar. 

The mortals had come to think of her as an icon of compassion. They'd decided that on their own, as they often did. There was really no need to correct them, but like anyone else, she had her priorities. Family was quite a big priority for her. She could make whatever sacrifice was necessary for their sake, for their happiness, even if the cost was the happiness of someone else.

Although she would greatly prefer if it didn't come to that. 

When Momoi sighed her breath was the only air that stirred in this place, so still and silent. The sun bathing the garden in gentle light was pleasant enough, but she itched for a nice breeze to waft through. 

Peeking to her left and right, she beckoned with her fingers and shaped an air current. Just a small one that tickled along her skin. It would be rude to disturb the atmosphere here, and the corners of her mouth lifted as she wondered if perhaps the garden had been renovated after someone else's tantrum. She wouldn't put it past her more impatient brethren.

Momoi was prepared to wait as long as it took and had cleared her schedule for the rest of the day just in case. It was rare for her to request a private audience—normally she was summoned at his convenience instead. That was simply how it worked with the emperor.

So it was a small surprise, even to her, when not much later Akashi joined her on the walkway. He came straight from court judging by the heavy extravagance of his dress, scarlet and gold brocade making an ostentatious display against the solemn, muted gray of the courtyard.

Momoi shooed away her breeze and dipped in a bow. "You needn't have hurried, I'm sure Reo-nee passed along that it wasn't an emergency."

"This way is convenient for both of us. I don't see any use in wasting time." The words were clipped and dry in his official business tone, but the next breath he drew was a hair slow. It was the sound of settling. Only Momoi would have picked up on it. He then added in a friendlier concession, "It's been a while. Tell me what's on your mind."

"Oh, the usual." Her lips twisted in a wry grin. "That troublesome brother of mine. The more troublesome one, I should say."

"Really?" Akashi gave her a sidelong glance. "And what of the mortal?"

Momoi's cheeks puffed out in a pout. It was an effect she knew Kagami found endearing and Aomine called appalling. Kise liked to imitate it to the disgusted annoyance of everyone else. Akashi was unfazed. "If you knew already, why did you ask?"

"I wanted to hear what you would say." If Aomine was here, he'd be snarling and snapping by now. Kagami would be clenching his fists, eyes narrow and flinty. Momoi merely waited for Akashi to continue. "You're fond of him."

"Tetsu-kun?" Akashi smiled slightly, and Momoi had to admit the affectionate appellation was proof enough. She shook her head at herself. Whatever Akashi was after, he'd get it somehow. She could only play along. "Of course, he's a very sweet boy. Intelligent, like his mother. I told you about her."

"I remember. You weren't sure why you'd have a vision of a seemingly harmless mortal woman."

"Well, later I thought it was because…" She trailed off, reluctant to complete that sentence.

Akashi didn't appear to care about pursuing it. "But she might have been brought to your attention because of her son."

"That idea has occurred to me, yes."

"The boy in question seems to have a positive influence on Daiki." Akashi tucked his hands inside his wide sleeves. The splash of color he presented no longer seemed out of place—conversely, it was now the fault of the surroundings for not matching him.

"Yes. Dai-chan, he… seems happier."

"Shouldn't that make you happy as well?"

"It does!" she insisted, balling her fists. They were getting to the crux of the problem. Perhaps it was hypocritical of her to accuse Akashi of baiting. Momoi spun to pace a few steps down the walkway. "Of course it does. And I want him to stay that way."

"Pity, then, that the mortal is to be sent back."

"Well, it's complicated," she muttered, glancing towards him. 

Akashi gazed thoughtfully out across the garden. "Indeed," he said slowly, and then became shrewd. "You've always been protective of Daiki—" (she wanted to protest on reflex but it was the gods' honest truth) "—but you're also attached to the mortal. More than you would readily admit at first. You're conflicted, guilty. There's also the matter of what happened with his mother…"

So he was bringing it up after all. Momoi hugged her arms. "I'm not sure if it's my place to tell him. Both of them."

Akashi gave a shake of his head. "I wouldn't. Not yet."

"So you're going to wait until things either work out or blow up in everyone's faces."

Now he looked amused. The amber light in his left eye sharpened. "Is that what I'm thinking?"

Momoi stuck her chin out. "You tell me."

"I'll tell you," he said, and turned to face her. Red filled her vision as two steps brought them close, and he leaned down to share in a conspiratorial murmur. "I think you're quite sneaky, Satsuki. Well done." He held out his hand, palm up.

She considered maintaining her innocence, but Akashi was too… overbearing, like this. Grumbling, she withdrew the document from where it had been folded inside the layers of her robes. "If you knew from the start, you could have just said."

"After all this time, wouldn't you assume I already know everything?" He plucked the paper from her fingers in a move that, had they been in public, would have been grossly undignified. He probably didn't get to be undignified often, so she contented herself with huffing under her breath and assuming an offended air while he skimmed the contents of the official document. She was sure none of it surprised him, though he did pause to raise his eyebrows in her direction. "I take it you bribed Atsushi to get your hands on this?"

"Please," she scoffed. "Dai-chan and Ki-chan do it all the time. It's like taking candy from a baby."

"Or giving it, more like. And you know if it was anyone other than one of us…"

"Yes," Momoi said dryly, "I believe the last person who tried is still a stain on the floor. Tatsu-nii insisted that it was impossible to get all of it out."

"It does make for a very illustrative warning." Akashi folded the document again. "Well, if the paperwork doesn't go through it may be a while before Kuroko Tetsuya is returned to the mortal realm."

"How unfortunate," Momoi deadpanned, squashing her niggling sense of guilt towards the boy. "After I went through the trouble of handing it directly to you to speed the process along."

"Not much one can do about the curse of bureaucracy: sometimes things slip through the cracks and nothing gets done." The paperwork was suddenly nowhere to be seen, Akashi's hands empty at his sides. "But I'm sure it's safe somewhere."

"I'll leave it to you." She inclined in a bow again. "Thank you for your time, Akashi-kun. I won't keep you from your duties any longer."

"Nor I, you. …Ah, but one more thing."

"Yes?" She kept her skepticism of his "sudden" thought to herself, and waited to hear him out.

"Have you seen or heard anything on the wind lately?" His eyes watched her intently, as if to catch her smallest reaction.

She had nothing to offer, though. "I'm afraid not. I hear noise, sometimes, but nothing definite."

"Hm."

The back of her neck prickled. "Akashi-kun?"

"It may be nothing, but…" He held his hand out to her again, but this time a sealed scroll lay in his palm. Momoi's stomach dropped at the sight of it. "Best to take precautions." His voice was carefully blank, with no hint of remorse. Of course there wouldn't be. But she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She hesitated long enough for him to prompt, "If you would, please."

Something bitter twisted in her gut as she accepted the scroll. "I'll pass it along to him," she said.

"Thank you."

For propriety's sake Momoi waited for Akashi to take his leave before hastening from the bleakness of the courtyard. First, she would take care of the unpleasant business with delivering the scroll. Aomine would complain, but he'd never shirk this particular duty no matter how much he hated it. His bad mood could last for weeks afterward—though it might be less with Kuroko around.

Kuroko Tetsuya. Instinctively, she knew he must be important. But she'd never caught a glimpse of him before he turned up in heaven, and she usually saw hints of such things before they happened. Her premonitions were especially strong when they concerned those close to her, but there hadn't been anything related to Aomine, either.

_And now, with Akashi-kun inquiring about the future…_

It was good that she had the afternoon free. There were very few things Momoi couldn't find on the wind when she wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a whole year since I wrote the first chapter LMAO oh my god I am the worst. But I promised ridiculously long chapters, so at least I delivered on that count.
> 
> The poem Kuroko writes is a famous one by Ki no Tomonori, translation by Earl Miner from An Introduction to Japanese Court Poetry.
> 
> Also, most of the chapter titles are Charlotte Martin lyrics, because I have a fixation and a lot of AoKuro feelings about them.


End file.
